


a doua  şansă

by mysterionrises



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blood Drinking, Carmilla shows up just long enough for Hector to kill her because it's what he deserves, F/M, Happy Ending, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Character Death, Reincarnation, Sharing a Bed, Suggestive Themes, Underage Drinking, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2019-09-13 11:59:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 27
Words: 87,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16892193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysterionrises/pseuds/mysterionrises
Summary: a doua șansă | Romanian | "a second chance"Trevor Belmont's not sure why he knows Sypha Belnades, but he does; or at least he used to, a long, long time ago. And he knows Adrian Țepeș, too, although he kind of wishes he didn't.All he has now are dreams that might just be more than dreams, and the threat of something far worse returning from his past to haunt him.





	1. Part I | Chapter 1

Part I | Trevor

“Belmont.”  
  
Dust in his lungs, the slow creaking of machinery, long since its last use coming to life once more.  
  
“Belmont?”  
  
His chest heaves with effort, like he’s been fighting for days, running for even longer.  
  
“Belmont.”  
  
“Wha— oh. Here.”

Trevor shakes his head and looks up at the Philosophy 100 teacher; she stares back, unimpressed.  
  
“I know it must be hard to focus after being in my classroom for a dreadful thirty seconds, but if you could give me just a bit more of your attention, you might be able to learn something,” she snaps.  
  
And— yeah, okay, he deserves that one, but it doesn’t stop the flare of annoyance in his chest any less. Something about the woman’s voice stirs a sense of déjà vu in him, but after a moment’s consideration he puts it down to her accent and nothing more — Romanian, he thinks, and that’s bad juju. He came all the way to America to get away from those memories.

“Yes, ma’am,” he mutters to get her off his back.

He watches the way her eyes widen, then narrow, before she turns bodily away from him with a huff. Trevor raises an eyebrow; but whatever’s going through her head, she pushes it aside and finishes the roll call.  
  
“Welcome to Intro to Philosophy,” she says as she sets aside the class list. “My name is Sypha Belnades, but you can just call me Sypha. Professor Crawford leads the large lecture on Mondays, while these smaller discussion groups will allow you to ask any questions you may have, and give you a better opportunity to participate in debates and group discussions. Any questions?”  
  
She gives them a moment of silence before she claps her hands and smiles and all Trevor’s annoyance goes out the window as he thinks,  _oh, alright. She’s got an okay smile._  
  
It’s all over after that, really.

* * *

They have their first in-class essay two weeks into the semester and it goes… okay.

No, that’s a lie. It’s bad. It is, without exaggeration, the worst thing Trevor thinks he’s ever written, and Sypha writes a big fat 27/100 on his test, complete with a small frowny face.  
  
Philosophy rapidly goes downhill from there.

It’s not that he doesn’t find the subject interesting, because he really, genuinely does. But Professor Crawford speaks in a monotone that puts him to sleep more often than not when they meet for their large lecture once a week, and to be completely frank, Trevor is abysmal at writing, which means every take home and in-class essay is an automatic fail. Sypha tries to get him engaged at first, calling on him during class discussions, but he stops doing the reading early on and it leaves him floundering when she calls on him. She stops bothering with him pretty quickly after their first grades come back.  
  
Honestly, he should have dropped the class the moment he got his first paper back; it had been the last day to drop and he could have done it, and it’s not like he needed this class for anything other than padding his schedule as he delays declaring a major. But...well, there’s another reason he’s so distracted sometimes.  
  
She has red hair, blue eyes, and her face lights up when she really gets going in their group discussions.

Sypha distracts Trevor, which is a whole issue in and of itself, but it means that he doesn’t want to drop her class even when all signs are pointing to this being a terrible, terrible idea.  
  
So he suffers through it silently, slouching down in his seat at the back of her class, and falling asleep in Dr. Crawford’s.  
  
Sypha barely fucking acknowledges him in class, which stings a bit, but is honestly probably for the best, which is why it shouldn’t be so surprising when he walks into The Coffee House just off campus and sees her behind the counter, and her customer service smile slides right off her face.  
  
Trevor shuffles his feet in line as she turns her head intentionally away from him and takes the order of the guy in front of him.  
  
Trevor debates the merits of jumping out of line and walking out the door right then and there, never to return again even though he’s got a penchant for the place these days and has been coming regularly for months now; but then the man in front of him moves away, and there’s nothing between Trevor and Sypha but the dirty counter.  
  
“What are  _you_  doing here?” Sypha asks at the same time he says, “I didn’t realize you worked here.”

They both pause like neither of them know how to respond to the other.

The sound of glass shattering breaks the moment before either of them can say something more.  
  
Trevor whips his head around as Sypha cranes her neck around him. There’s a guy crouched on the ground near the front of the store gathering up the pieces of one of those ceramic travel mugs that’s shattered on the ground. His long blond hair is pulled back into a braid and he doesn’t seem to be worried about cutting himself on the ceramic as Sypha rushes around the counter.

“Oh, sir, we can get that,” she says quickly, looking to cut off a lawsuit in the making if the man gets himself hurt cleaning up. “Tyler, can you bring me a broom?” she shouts.

The man is still looking at the ground so Trevor can’t see his face; but Trevor can see the way his hands have started to shake.  
  
He watches the way Sypha touches the man’s arm, catches the whispers of her concern, “are you alright? Are you hurt?”

And the man jerks his head up in shock, meeting Sypha’s gaze before he stands with unnatural speed and runs out the door. Trevor furrows his brow. He can see Sypha do the same, and he watches as she slowly rises to stand and stares out the window after him.

A moment later, her coworker rushes from the back, carrying a broom and caution sign. Slowly, Sypha turns away and comes back to the front. She looks… thoughtful.  
  
“What was that guy’s problem?” Trevor mutters. He jerks his thumb in the guy’s direction.

“Hm? Oh, Trevor.” There’s a dreamy expression on Sypha’s face, one he’s never seen before, and she doesn’t even give him her usual disdain. “What did you need?”

“Oh, uh. Coffee. Just black.”  
  
Sypha nods as he fishes cash out of the pocket of his jeans; the faraway look in her eyes doesn’t fade, and Trevor feels something hot and bitter burn in his chest. The coffee is fitting for his mood.

* * *

If Trevor expected Sypha’s opinion on him to change after that, he’s sorely mistaken. He comes into class the following Monday to a 38/100 on his most recent paper and the words “see me after class” emblazoned on the front page.  
  
Sypha’s only mercy to him is the way she lays the paper upside down on his desk as she stomps away.  
  
The paper burns a hole in his desk the whole hour until she finally lets them go. He drags his feet packing up, letting the other students rush out of the room. A few of them linger to ask Sypha questions about their grades or comments she’d left in the margins, but Trevor just stays rooted in place until they’ve all left. A few toss curious glances in his direction, but luckily no one is actually curious enough to stay and ask.  
  
Finally, he stands up and faces Sypha like a man to the gallows.  
  
Sypha is packing up her own bag as he approaches, closing the front flap rather more violently than Trevor thinks is strictly necessary. “Oh, you decided to stay after all, hm?” she snipes. “Did not think it beneath you? Tell me, are you this rude to all your teachers, or is it just me you dislike?”  
  
“Wha—what?” That genuinely throws him for a loop, and Trevor is left scratching the back of his neck as Sypha goes off on a tangent that has—clearly—been a long time in the making.  
  
“I understand that this is just an ‘Introductory’ course so some people may think they do not have to put as much effort into it as classes related to their major, but that does not mean you get to completely disregard  _everything_ I am trying to teach you. It is  _rude_ and  _disrespectful,_ and  _you_ may not care about philosophy but it is my passion, and you cannot come into my classroom and just— _shit_ on everything I’m trying to do!” She swipes her hair out of her face where it fell in the midst of her rant, and Trevor watches the movement in stunned silence.  
  
Sypha exhales, shoulders slumping, and lowers her hands to her sides. “...Well? What do you have to say for yourself.”  
  
“I…” He feels like his brain has short-circuited. He shakes his head and clears his throat. “That wasn’t—I didn’t mean to make you think that. I  _don’t_ think that. Er.” He rubs the back of his neck again. “I’m...really bad at this.”  
  
Sypha snorts. “Yeah, you’re telling me.”  
  
“No, I’m serious. I mean I’m  _really_ bad at philosophy, and it’s not  _your_ fault that I’m a complete idiot.”  
  
“So you’re…  _not_ trying to make a mockery of me and everything I’m trying to do?”  
  
Trevor wants to laugh, but he doesn’t think it would go over too well so he holds it back. “No.”  
  
Sypha looks at him thoughtfully; like she’s looking at him in a new light now and considering. “What about a tutor?”  
  
“Hm?”  
  
“A tutor,” she repeats. “Now that I know you’re not intentionally trying to spit in my face, I think a tutor would be a good idea. Not me,” she adds immediately. “I don’t have any extra time. But one of the other section leaders should be able to help you. I will ask around and see if anyone can help. Even if they can’t, the school offers tutoring resources, too.”  
  
Trevor is still reeling from Sypha’s abrupt 180, and he ends up just nodding. “Uh, yeah! Yeah, that sounds great. Really, really… great.” Please stop saying great, Trevor.  
  
Sypha beams at him.“Wonderful! See me after next session and I’ll you know what I’ve heard.”  
  
Trevor just keeps nodding. “Great. I should, uh…get to my next class.”  
  
“Oh! Goodness, I didn’t mean to keep you. Yes, yes, go.” She physically shoes him away, but for once Trevor is smiling as he leaves.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I haven't posted a fanfic since the days of fanfiction.net. Who would have guessed that it would be Castlevania fic of all things that would bring me back into the fold. I started this for nanowrimo so I'm currently about 2/3 of the way done. I'll likely figure out a posting schedule once I have a few more chapters cleaned up and ready to go.
> 
> Let me know what you think!


	2. Part I | Chapter 2

He thinks that will be the end of it; he starts his tutoring with one of Sypha’s fellows, a guy named Aaron who’s nice enough, and they meet twice a week. It may take a couple weeks, but his grades will magically reverse, he’ll ace the class, and ask Sypha on a date as soon as he receives his final grade for the semester (alright, the last one’s just a harmless fantasy. He’s got no plans on that front). He’s also free to keep going to his favorite coffee shop now that she doesn’t hate him anymore. He asks her about it one day, leaning on the counter as she makes him something sugary that she insists he try—  
  
“Aren’t you getting paid to teach philosophy? So why the coffee?”  
  
“Unfortunately, student teaching doesn’t pay for student loans,” she quips. “Besides, I was here before I started teaching, and I like my coworkers. Why would I quit now?”  
  
“Annoying customers?”  
  
“Like you?” She smiles as she hands over a frappuccino. Trevor makes a show of being affronted by the insult, but when he takes his first sip he’s smiling (until it hits his taste buds and he has to hold back a physical gag).  
  
Or another time, watching as she draws latte art with such an intense look on concentration that he’s entranced. “I don’t actually think lattes are that good,” she says as she passes it off to him. “Sorry if you don’t like it, but I wanted the practice.”  
  
Trevor just shrugs and takes his first sip. It’s still sweet, but not as bad as the frappuccino, that’s for damn sure, and he says as much. Sypha laughs.  
  
“So why’d I never see you around here before now?” he asks. “I’ve been coming here for months now.”  
  
Sypha shrugs. “I used to work opening shifts through the morning rush, but when I started teaching morning classes my schedule changed to afternoons.”  
  
He nods sagely. “Ah, you used to work prime sleeping hours. I see.”  
  
Her Americano is good, though; rich and just the right amount of sweet that it’s not overpowering. “I might actually order this one again,” he concedes.  
  
She beams as she begins cleaning up her workstation. “Sorry, I know I keep wasting your money on coffee you’re not even drinking.”  
  
Trevor doesn’t care; he’s got enough money to waste on a few cups of coffee, but he just shrugs instead of saying anything.  
  
She tells him that she’s from Romania on a student visa, and he nods and keeps quiet and lets her draw her own conclusions about him. He suspects she’s a Speaker though she doesn’t say anything, so he supposes they’ve each got their own secrets to keep.  
  
Unfortunately, reality returns to smack him in the face. Hard. Sypha hands out in-class essays, telling them that this is the last one before their midterm. And he’s  _ready_ , or at least he thinks he is; he reads the prompt  and he  _gets it_ , he does, but the second he tries to put words to paper it falls apart.  
  
Sypha returns the paper a week later with a tiny frowny face and the words “see me” next to the glaring 50/100.  
  
He slinks up to the podium after class with his shoulders slumped and his hands in his pockets. This time she doesn’t look angry, just disappointed; it’s worse.  
  
“Trevor…”  
  
“I know! I know,” he sighs, pulling his hand out of his pocket to scrub at his face. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Sypha.”  
  
“How often have you been meeting with Aaron?”  
  
“Twice a week,” he mutters. “Tuesdays and Thursdays. I feel like I’m eating, sleeping, and shitting philosophy right now.”  
  
Sypha purses her lips. “And you… think it is going well?”  
  
He shrugs. “I dunno. I guess. We meet in the library though, so sometimes it’s...I dunno. Harder to focus?”  
  
Sypha tilts her head, looking thoughtful. “ _Harder_ to focus, you said?”  
  
He nods a little miserably.  
  
“Interesting...but Aaron is good?”  
  
He shrugs again. “I dunno. He’s nice enough, but he also thinks I’m a complete idiot, so there’s that.”  
  
Sypha raps her fingers on the podium; nods to herself. “Alright, let’s switch gears. Come to the House at six today. Can you make that?”  
  
Slowly, Trevor nods. “...Why?”  
  
She smiles brightly. “I’m going to tutor you!”  
  
“I’m sorry, what?”  
  
“I’m going to tutor you,” she repeats. “Obviously since I’m grading your papers I can see where you’re shit—” (“thanks,” he intones) “—so it’s an obvious solution.”  
  
“I thought you were too busy to tutor me.”  
  
Sypha shrugs as she slings her bag over her shoulder. “I know what I said. But clearly what you’re doing now isn’t working.” She softens slightly, and in a more genuine voice she insists, “It can’t hurt to try this, Trevor. If it doesn’t work then we’ll figure something else out.”  
  
His lips part; this is the part of Sypha that’s so disarming: her genuine desire to go out of her way to help others. “Alright,” he finally concedes. “Today at six.”  
  
“Great!” she claps her hands and beams at him.  
  
Trevor feels a brief moment of…something wash over him. Déjà vu, maybe, before it’s gone in a flash and Sypha is waving him off for his next class.

* * *

 Because that’s the thing about Sypha, isn’t it? It’s not just that she’s funny, or beautiful, or passionate about her work, although those are all true, too. It’s that sometimes she smiles in just the right way, or says his name just so, and it leaves him off-kilter for the rest of the day in a way that’s hard to describe.  
  
Sometimes he dreams about her: a hazy, ephemeral thing. They’re outside usually, and it’s Sypha-but-not, something not quite right that he can’t put his finger on, but the dreams are gone when he wakes up and just leaving him longing for something or someone he can’t name.  
  
Regardless of all that, though, tutoring with Sypha makes an immediate impact. Maybe it’s because she gets him more, or the fact that she doesn’t talk down to him when she explains concepts, or maybe it’s as simple as the fact that—  
  
“Have you ever been diagnosed with ADHD?”  
  
Trevor blinks at her in surprise. “Sorry, what?”  
  
She blushes a little and looks down at their cramped table. “Sorry, was that too forward? My grandfather always tells me I’m too blunt. And I’m not a doctor, it’s just—I know you struggle to focus, especially in the large lectures when you can’t talk. But you seem to grasp most of these concepts with relative ease when I explain them, and  _now that you’re doing the reading,_ you always like to participate in class when it comes to debates; it seems to be the writing you struggle with.”  
  
“I’m not very good at writing,” he mutters defensively. “Never have been.”  
  
“I know,” she says simply, and:  _ouch._ “But it’s not just you struggling with your words. It’s also the fact that you get distracted in the middle of your train of thought. You mentioned that when you tutored with Aaron in the library you got distracted a lot, right?”  
  
“...Yeah?” He doesn’t see her connection.  
  
“But I bet you haven’t had as much of a problem since we started working here.” She crosses her arms and sits back in his chair, looking proud.  
  
And… huh. “I hadn’t thought about it,” he admits. “But you’re right.”  
  
She nods definitively. “And you fidget in class a lot. I notice that one.” Trevor flushes a little self-consciously, but Sypha forges on, waving her hand dismissively. “Don’t be embarrassed, there’s nothing wrong with fidgeting. Ooh! You should get one of those spinning fidget things!” She holds up her index finger and circles it with her other finger.  
  
The loose papers on the table scatter as a gust of wind hits them abruptly— someone coming in from the front, most likely. Sypha laughs and brushes her hair from where it’s fallen in her face while she scrambles to catch the papers. “But seriously,” she continues as she re-organizes the pages. “I think it might help. Like I said, I’m no doctor, but I would bet you have other symptoms you don’t realize. And you said you were never diagnosed? Were you ever checked?”  
  
“No,” Trevor says. He clears his throat uncomfortably, “most kids aren’t, when they’re in the system.”  
  
It takes her a second for the meaning to sink in before she covers her mouth with one hand. “Oh, Trevor,” she starts.  
  
He puts a hand up. “Don’t,” he says before she can pity him. “Just don’t.”  
  
She falls back in her seat, going silent, and Trevor hates this. They’re were having a good time and now she’s going to look at him with pity and he doesn’t  _need_ that, not when he feels like they were becoming something of friends.  
  
He’s distracted by the sound of the jingle of the overhead bell on the front door signifying a new customer, though he can’t see them from this angle, his seat tucked behind the serving bar.  
  
Sypha turns around in her seat as the footsteps approach them rather than the cashier, like she has some sort of sixth sense, and Trevor watches as her face lights up.  
  
“Sypha,” a coolly accented voice says as the man comes into view.  
  
“Adrian!” Sypha chirps, and  _fuck_ he’s beautiful—captivating eyes and long blond hair piled high in a bun. It’s one of those artsy, hipster ones: the messy kind where it tries to look like it took only seconds to do, but in reality probably took upwards of thirty minutes. He’s even wearing those thick-framed glasses and one of those obnoxious v-neck t-shirts. He’s everything Trevor finds insufferable in a man but instead he’s just… enchanting.  
  
His gaze flickers to Trevor, and whatever he sees there gives him pause as his eyes widen slightly. He steadies himself against the counter before he looks back at Sypha and frowns a little. “You… weren’t here this weekend— are you sick?”  
  
Sypha laughs and smiles like she’s pleased the man noticed her absence. “You’re too observant for your own good. I think my roommate got me sick last week, I felt it coming on Thursday and spent Saturday and Sunday curled up in bed all day; traded my shifts to someone else.”  
  
The man reaches out like he’s going to touch her—check her forehead or touch her hair, maybe—before he realizes what he’s doing and stops himself. “Are you feeling any better today?”  
  
Sypha nods. “Oh, yes. It was mostly gone when I woke up this morning. Just some residual sniffles.”  
  
Adrian hums.  
  
“You’re that guy that broke a glass in here like a month ago, aren’t you?!” Trevor interjects before his brain can catch up to his mouth.  
  
The man turns his striking gaze on Trevor, and he can feel heat grow on the back of his neck. It only grows stronger when it feels like the man can read his body language, the ways his eyes drop to Trevor’s neck, then back up. “Sorry, I just— you looked really familiar. And I couldn’t place why. That’s what it was, wasn’t it?”  
  
Something about his explanation seems to upset the man; Trevor watches the way he balls his hands into fists as he looks away. “Yes,” he says before he looks back at Sypha. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your study session, I simply saw you were here and wanted to check on you. If you’ll excuse me, Trevor, Sypha.” He inclines his head in both their directions before he beats a hasty retreat.  
  
Sypha turns her ire on Trevor the moment he’s out the door, eyes narrowed. “Why did you have to be so rude!” she hisses.  
  
Trevor hunches his shoulders defensively. “I didn’t do anything! It was just a question.”  
  
“It was a  _rude_ question. You scared him away!”  
  
Trevor scowls at the table. “It wasn’t my fault,” he mutters.  
  
Sypha just sighs and shakes her head. “Never mind,” she murmurs, long-suffering. “It doesn’t matter now.”  
  
“Is he a friend of yours?”  
  
Sypha goes a little pink at the question, and Trevor ignores the flare of jealousy in his chest it brings out. “Oh, well— he came back in after _the incident_ and apologized. For breaking the mug  _and_ running.” She laughs. “He paid for it and then tipped really well regardless. I didn’t care that much, it was an overpriced mug anyway, but he was sweet. Apparently he just moved here from Romania, too! What a coincidence, right?”  
  
Trevor feels his body jolt. Finding one other person from Romania was weird enough, but two? It makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on edge, because Trevor’s never been one to believe in coincidences. He doesn’t know what it means, but he doesn’t like it.

* * *

  _Trevor dreams of Adrian and Sypha._  
  
_Something about Adrian’s presence seems to make the dream firm up, as if it’s the existence of Sypha and Adrian_ together  _that his previously evanescent dreams lacked._  
  
_They stand together in the middle of a forest, and a familiar castle looms in the distance, looking newer than Trevor’s ever seen in life._  
  
_Sypha looks older, though not outrageously so, but Adrian looks if anything younger._  
  
_“Trevor,” he says. “I know you gave it to me, but it’s your home, still. If you’ll have it.”_  
  
_As he speaks, Trevor realizes that they’re not standing in the middle of an empty forest like he’d first assumed, but at the foot of what must be the foundations of a new house. To the side of the foundations stand a looming pile of debris, something that stirs an ache in his chest though he can’t name why._  
  
_Trevor feels the words burgeoning on his lips, and he doesn’t know what possesses him to say it. “We missed you.”_  
  
_Adrian looks startled before his expression softens; he reaches out to touch Trevor’s arm. He feels like his skin is burning under the touch._  
  
_“And I, you, friends.”_  
  
His alarm blares before he can hear the rest. Trevor jolts upright in bed, clutching the sheets between trembling fingers.  
  
Trevor groans and scrubs his hands over his face. It was hardly a nightmare, but the dream leaves him shaken as he throws his legs over the side of the bed and forces himself up.  
  
He supposes it’s not surprising. He came to America to leave behind memories of Romania; of course meeting two people from back home would stir up unpleasant memories.  
  
Still...he can’t help but dwell on the castle. He’d recognize it anywhere, of course; it was a bona fide pillar of his childhood. But he’d grown used to the ivy climbing up its walls, the doors barricaded until he’d forced his way inside for the first time at thirteen. This…this had been something different.  
  
Whatever. He shakes his head, and briefly considers a shower to wash away the memories before he bypasses the bathroom and heads straight for the six-pack in the fridge instead. It’s shite, because it’s never been about the taste when he buys in the quantities he does on a fake ID, but he doesn’t care.  
  
Coffee crosses his mind, too, as he uncaps the bottle; but the risk of running into Sypha is too great and he dismisses it out of hand.  
  
It’s fine; he just needs one to ease his nerves for the day.  
  
It’s not until he’s halfway through the bottle and his hands have stopped shaking that his mind pieces together just what felt so off-putting about Adrian’s introduction.  
  
He hadn’t given his name, had he?


	3. Part I | Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for some semi-graphic depictions of gore, see end note for more details. I'm assuming most people will be fine since this is Castlevania we're writing about, but just to be safe.
> 
> The scene in question starts with the paragraph "Trevor dreams of Dracula that night" and goes until the paragraph that starts "Trevor falls out of bed"
> 
> There will also be more gore/violence in the future which I will also try to appropriately tag when I think it might be too intense. There will also be sexual content, which I will also tag (and up the rating) when it becomes relevant so you can skip it if you would like.

Midterms are right around the corner, and Trevor’s disconcerting dreams and the mysterious Adrian quickly disappear from his mind as his teachers start prepping their students for their impending doom. He spends the next few weeks in a haze of coffee and energy drinks to get through the day, and alcohol through the night; and  _somehow_ despite what has to be a mounting workload, Sypha continues to make time for their tutoring sessions.  
  
Trevor’s not too worried about his classes (Philosophy notwithstanding); he’s always muddled through with average grades on minimal studying, and he’s fairly confident he’ll coast through midterms with a handful of passing grades, even if nothing outstanding.  
  
Philosophy is his only hang-up. And it’s not like it’s even an important class— next year he’ll (hopefully) declare a major and it sure as hell isn’t going to require an Intro to Philosophy course, but it feels like a point of pride now. Specifically, Sypha’s pride. He wants to show her that he  _can_ do it, not just for his own sake but to prove that she’s a good teacher and a good tutor.  
  
So he walks into the large lecture hall the day of their midterm with nothing but a blue book, pen, and one single fidget spinner. Sypha spots him halfway across the hall as TAs check everyone’s blue books, and when she gives him a thumbs up he smiles and knows he’s going to kick some ass.

* * *

Midterms come and go and the students of Hawthorne University collectively hold their breath as they wait for grades to drop.  
  
Just as he’d predicted, Trevor coasts through all of them with a collection of As and Bs.  
  
Sypha passes graded essays out to their section a week and a half after midterms, likely a result of her pushing herself to her limits to get them out in a timely manner.  
  
She doesn’t return his.  
  
Trevor dwells on it all period until she dismisses the class. He stays rooted in his seat until it’s just the two of them.  
  
“Did I do that badly?” he cracks to ease the tension from his shoulders. “Had to throw the whole thing out?”  
  
Sypha smiles at him. “Nothing so extreme, at least as far as I’ve heard. No, I gave your test to one of the other TAs. I didn’t want to let bias cloud my judgement.”  
  
“Bias?”  
  
Trevor swears Sypha tinges pink, and that’s...  _interesting._  “I...well, yes. I’ve been tutoring you one-on-one, right? I just wanted to make sure I didn’t grade you unfairly because I want you to do well, and not because you  _are_ doing well.”  
  
Trevor nods slowly. “Right…but I’m pretty sure teachers want  _all_ their students to do well,” he prods. “And it’s not that strange to give your student extra tutoring. Surely nothing you would need to give my paper to another teacher to grade over.”  
  
And,  _yeah_ , he definitely isn’t imagining it when her cheeks get even rosier.  
  
“It’s not about you,” she declares. “It’s a point of pride. If I can’t tutor the untutorable—  _you—_ then what’s even the point of becoming a teacher!”  
  
“Ouch,” he deadpans.  
  
Sypha pats his arm. “Anyway, don’t worry too much. I’m sure I’ll get your test back soon and we’ll see that you’ve aced the whole thing!” She pumps her fist in the air.  
  
Trevor smiles softly. “Thank you, Sypha.”  
  
She looks up at him, meeting his gaze, and for a moment something unnameable passes between them.  
  
Clearing his throat, Trevor rubs the back of his neck. “Er, I should— head to my next class.”  
  
Sypha nods. “Right, yes, yes. That’s. Smart.”  
  
They both stop in the doorway of the classroom, her to go left and him right, and for a second they just look.  
  
“Well, I—”  
  
“Sypha, I—”  
  
They stop. Laugh. Trevor motions for her to start. “Go first, please.”  
  
“I… should get going,” she murmurs.  
  
Trevor nods. “I’ll see you after you get off, then? Regular session at six?”  
  
Sypha smiles. “I would not miss it for the world.”

* * *

“Sypha,” Trevor starts as he pulls up a seat at what’s quickly becoming  _their table._ She’s already skimming the reading assignment she’d given to their class, likely in a bid to force him to write a one-page essay on the topic. It’s her new method of torture for him, though he can’t deny it’s helping. “You didn’t tell your friend about me, did you?”  
  
“Who?” Sypha says, raising her head. “Adrian?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Hm.” She taps her chin with her pen, looking thoughtful. “I don’t think so. Maybe I did. Why?”  
  
Trevor shakes his head and files it away. “It doesn’t matter.”  
  
She watches him for a few seconds, trying to decipher whether he’s telling her the truth, but her attention is drawn away before she can say anything.  
  
It’s drawn away because the mysterious Adrian crashes their tutoring session again. Speak of the devil, and all that. At least this time he has the decency to order a drink before he approaches them, so it looks at least that much more natural when he stops at their table.  
  
“Adrian!” Sypha greets happily. “Hello!”  
  
His lips quirk upwards. “Hello, Sypha; Trevor.” Trevor grunts. “May I sit?”  
  
“Actually, we’re working,” Trevor says at the exact same time Sypha says, “of course!” They both freeze and give each other dirty looks before Trevor sighs and waves his hand. “Fine,  _whatever_ ,” he mutters. He leans his head against his fist on the table. “Knock yourself out.”  
  
Adrian does just that. He grabs a chair from the empty table next to them and settles it between them, and he does it with such unnatural grace that the chair doesn’t scrape against the floor even once.  
  
What the fuck.  
  
“How have you been?” Sypha asks. “Is the museum keeping you busy?”  
  
“Museum?” Trevor says, interest piqued despite himself. He sits up in his seat a little.  
  
Adrian turns his unnerving gaze on Trevor.  
  
“Yes,” he says. “I’m the curator of the ‘History of Horror’ exhibit that’s currently on tour here in America. It’s going to be here at the university museum for the next month, which is why I’m here.”  
  
“History of Horror, eh?” Trevor’s actually a little interested.  
  
Adrian smiles, a full-mouthed thing that shows off his teeth, and—are those fangs? Trevor must be imagining things, but still he can feel his body tense up reflexively, instincts screaming at him to  _get away, get far away from that thing._ “Oh, yes, “ Adrian says. He sounds amused, like he can see the way Trevor reacts to him. “We examine the horror genre as its seen in myth, film, and literature, and the real life creatures that influenced them. Everything from the mundane, easily explained cases of serial killers— say, Jack the Ripper, who despite keeping his identity hidden all these years was still nothing more than a human man— to the supernatural, and the origins of myths like Baba Yaga or...” he pauses for dramatic effect, and his eyes remain intently focused on Trevor. “Dracula.  
  
“…In fact, we even have what sources claim is the ashes of Dracula himself.” He laughs quietly, a joke for himself alone.  
  
“But Dracula’s a myth,” Sypha says matter-of-factly. “So you can’t have his ashes.”  
  
Finally, Adrian turns his unnerving gaze to Sypha instead. He smiles again, though it’s not nearly so intimidating this time. “How are you so sure, dear Sypha, that that is all he is?”  
  
Sypha looks thrown off, like she wasn’t expecting that answer, and Adrian chuckles again. “Of course, we only have so much room in our exhibit, so we remain focused on European horror. But whether Dracula was a living, breathing man or not, you cannot deny the very real impact he had on the world at large. There is no one who has not heard his name, and he serves as a cornerstone of the modern horror genre.”  
  
“You’re very passionate about this,” Sypha says diplomatically.  
  
Adrian shrugs, sitting back in his chair. The previous fervor that seemed to possess him eases out of his shoulders, and Trevor finds he has to forcibly remind himself that he does  _not_ trust this guy, or he’s going to drop his guard at the exact wrong moment. Something tells him that’s exactly what this guy wants. “I have my interests.”  
  
Sypha smiles and reaches out to put her hand on his. “I think it’s wonderful,” she says. Trevor can feel his gaze boring a hole in the motion, and he can feel the way Adrian stiffens next to him before the man relaxes and begins to stroke the back of her hand with his thumb.  
  
Trevor stands, his chair scraping loudly against the tiled floor. “I’m gonna get another drink,” he mutters, anything to get away from this nauseating display.  
  
His shoulders remain hunched the entire time he’s in line; though he tries not to watch them, he can’t help his gaze returning to the two of them every few seconds.  
  
It’s not just jealousy. Trevor knows jealousy, and for all his flaws he does his best to be completely straightforward with how much of a mess he is. If it were jealousy alone, he could admit that to himself; and there  _is_ jealousy, sure, but mostly it’s that instinct screaming at him in the back of his mind, making the hairs on his neck stand on end.  
  
Something about this guy is wrong, and he doesn’t want Sypha anywhere near him.  
  
Adrian stands when Trevor returns, inclining his head in his direction. “My apologies for interrupting your tutoring session,” he murmurs. He glances over both of them as he continues, “As I said, Sypha, the exhibit debuted last weekend. The two of you are welcome to come see it any time. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”  
  
And then he’s gone.  
  
Trevor stares after him long after he’s gone before he sits back down. “Sypha,” he says; carefully. Urgently.  
  
Sypha furrows her brow, perhaps detecting something not quite right in Trevor’s voice. “Yes?”  
  
“I know you like that man, but I don’t trust him; and you shouldn’t, either. Don’t you get the sense that something’s… I dunno. Not quite right with him?”  
  
Sypha frowns. “What are you talking about?”  
  
“You’re telling me you didn’t get the weird—” he gestures vaguely, and Sypha makes a noise of disgust.  
  
“No, I didn’t get a weird—” she makes the same gesture. “You barely know the man.”  
  
“You barely know him, either!”  
  
“That’s not—” she takes a second and closes her eyes, looking like she’s trying to calm down before she tries again. “You’re being  _ridiculous_ , Trevor.”  
  
“Oh, come on! You’re telling me you don’t think it’s weird how—  _empty_ his words sound, like there’s no emotion behind them, or how  _cold_ he feels? It feels like I’m sitting next to nothingness when he sits there.” He’s not sure where the words come from, but he realizes as he says them how right they are.  
  
Sypha goes quiet; maybe something in what he’s said struck a chord with her. “Or maybe,” she says pointedly after a beat of silence. “He’s  _lonely_ and reaching out to someone.”  
  
Trevor throws his hands up. “Fine!” he snaps. He starts gathering his books and pencils. “Good luck ending up as an exhibit in his ‘History of Horror’ museum or whatever.”  
  
“How  _dare_ you—”  
  
But Trevor’s already gone.

* * *

 Trevor dreams of Dracula that night. It’s an amalgamation of memories and horror, a misshapen rendition of his first time breaking into the old haunted castle back home.  
  
In reality, he’d been thirteen at the time. His parents were already gone and Aunt Edelie so recently with them. It had been his last memory of home before they’d taken him away. He’d finally pried one of the boarded up windows loose and tossed a rock through the window. It had spooked the crows nearby, sending them soaring into the sky and making Trevor jump, but he’d pushed onward anyway.  
  
The castle had been… well, to this day he still wasn’t sure. It had simply felt like something he had to do. A point of control, perhaps. His whole family was gone, and the mystery of the castle that had presided over his childhood somehow seemed to him at the time like the answer to all his problems.  
  
It hadn’t been, of course. It had been dusty and empty and aside from rotting stairs that probably should have killed him and a few sad rooms, there had been nothing of note. He’d left that day feeling worse than when he’d begun, though in time he grew grateful that he at least knew the truth, disappointing or not.  
  
But in his dream, as Trevor climbs those rotting stairs, he sees the shadow of a figure up ahead. And he’s thirteen again, knobby knees and limbs too long for his body. His heart pounds in his chest  _ba-dump ba-dump ba-dump._  
  
Up the stairs is a study, and Trevor balls his hands into fists to keep them from shaking as he watches firelight pour through the partially open doorway and flicker in the hall.  
  
Two simultaneous urges give rise in his body, anathema to one another.  _Move closer. Run away._  His steps grow leaden until he feels like it’s impossible to take a single step closer, and still he goes; because  _Belmonts are brave,_ his father always used to say.  _Belmonts always help._  
  
He hears shuffling in the room when he reaches the door. His instincts scream at him to turn and run away; he reaches out with his heart in his throat and pushes the door open instead.  
  
Crows— hundreds of them,  _thousands—_ pour out of the room and into the hall, shrieking so loud he can’t hear himself think. He feels them swarming him and pecking at his clothes, his skin, and Trevor does his best to bat them away but not before he can feel blood begin to drip down his arms and cheeks and his knobby, knobby knees from their talons and beaks where they will not let go. They trip him up, sending him stumbling to the floor so he’s on his hands and knees.  
  
And then all at once, the crows scatter as one, their beaks shiny with his blood.  
  
He sniffles, just once, before two feet step into his line of sight. Trevor feels his whole body begin to tremble as he draws his gaze up,  _up—_  
  
Dracula snatches out with inhuman speed and wraps one hand around Trevor’s neck, dragging him off the floor and holding him out in the air. Trevor squirms, trying to get a good hold on Dracula’s grip on his neck as he feels the vampire’s nails begin to dig into the fragile flesh there.  
  
Trevor cries out, kicking his feet frantically but he’s so much  _smaller_ than Dracula that he’s helpless.  
  
“Bel….mont…” Dracula hisses. His lips curl in a snarl, twin fangs bared for Trevor to see and this close Trevor can see as the whites of his eyes give way to blood, nothing but blood as his eyes flood red.  
  
_Belmonts are brave._  
  
Trevor goes limp and lets Dracula drag him closer until he can feel the vampire’s breath on his face— Trevor raises his hands above his head and brings them together with all his might against the crook of Dracula’s arm. Dracula hisses and his arm buckles, his grip loosening enough that Trevor can swing his feet up and kick Dracula at his core with all his might.  
  
It’s not enough to injure the vampire, but it’s enough momentum to break his grip on Trevor’s neck. Trevor is flung to the floor and he wastes no time scrambling to his feet.  
  
Trevor sprints for the old stairs. He feels them crumbling beneath every step and he pushes himself faster, throwing himself at the old broken window and squirming his way out as hundreds of eyes watch him, silent.  
  
And then he’s out, hitting the dirt with a grunt before he starts sprinting for home. The front doors of the castle burst open with the sound of cracking wood as the boards nailed up across the front are ripped out.  
  
He’s gasping for breath, and out of the corner of his eye he can see the shadow of something, pursuing him; no, not pursuing. He’s  _toying_ with him. Dracula matches his speed easily, keeping just close enough for Trevor to never lose awareness of his presence, but just far enough away to let Trevor think that  _maybe, for now, he’s safe._  
  
Trevor barrels through the front door of the house and all at once, all he can hear is deafening, overwhelming  _silence._  
  
His chest heaves with exertion.  _“Mummy!”_ he screams.  _“Papa!”_  
  
No answer.  
  
Trevor sprints for the stairs, up to the master suite, still screaming for his parents. He throws the bedroom door open and there they are, laying in bed. His father’s back faces him and he darts over to him.  
  
“Wake up!” he shouts as he jostles his father. “Wake up! Dracula, he’s coming!” Slowly, his father rolls over.  
  
Except it’s not his father.  
  
One hand flops over the side of bed first and dangles there, and Trevor can see where the flesh has begun to peel away and expose sinew and bone. And then the rest of the body follows, sagging into Trevor as it begins to try to reach for him.  
  
Its mouth is twisted in a horrified grimace, half-rotted, and before Trevor even has time to scream maggots begin to crawl from the sockets where his eyes used to be. Trevor drops the body like he’s been burned, falling back on his arse and scrambling away as tears begin to well in his eyes.  
  
His father’s body has wilted, folded in some unnatural pose before a new hand reaches out over the body.  
  
“Trevor….” a voice croaks as his mother reaches out for him. She moans, a long, painful thing and then maggots are crawling from her, too, still half-alive and Trevor  _screams—_  
  
Trevor falls out of bed, batting frantically at the comforter that’s twisted itself around his body like a vice. He feels like he can’t breathe as he gets free and slumps against the side of the bed. Slowly, his body begins to come down from its adrenaline high as it registers he was never in any danger, but still his body shakes.  
  
He lays there pressed against the side of the bed for a long time, eyes closed but unable to sleep. Eventually, he gropes for his phone on the side table beside his bed, squinting against light as he opens it and feels his stomach drop.  
  
_Jesus H. Christ,_ he thinks as he drops his phone to his side. He brings his other hand up to cover his face.  _No wonder I’ve been such a mess._  
  
Trevor presses his thumb and forefinger against his eyes, building pressure there and letting it ground him. It doesn’t matter though, no matter how hard he tries the phone display has been burned into his eyes.  
  
_1:48 AM Tues, October 30_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Semi-graphic depiction of gore depicting crows attacking Trevor, rotting flesh, and maggots crawling out of dead bodies; it's all in a nightmare and not actually happening.
> 
> The scene in question starts with the paragraph "Trevor dreams of Dracula that night" and goes until the paragraph that starts "Trevor falls out of bed."
> 
> On an unrelated note, thanks so much to everyone that left comments and kudos! I was nervous about posting this so I'm glad people are enjoying it thus far!


	4. Part I | Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Secrets are revealed, dreams are had, and a bit more of the story comes out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Underage drinking is really just a general warning for this fic.

Sypha spends all Wednesday morning fretting over Trevor. She wants him to know she’s not still mad about Monday, but he doesn’t show. She spends the ten minutes leading up to class glancing between the clock and the door and ignoring the rest of her students as they chat. (“Did you hear?” Hannah says to another girl as they walk in and pass Sypha. “More people went missing last night. Two guys.” “How many people does this bring the count up to?” “Five.”)  
  
Sypha’s just about ready to give him up for lost when she hears fumbling at the door and he stumbles in two minutes past the hour.  
  
She smiles tightly in his direction to show that she’s not mad, but it quickly slides off the moment she sees him fully.  
  
His hair looks unkempt like it hasn’t seen a hairbrush in the past few days, his chin scruffy with the beginnings of a beard that hasn’t been shaved in two days, and sunglasses covering his eyes despite the fact that they’re inside at ten o’clock on a Wednesday.  
  
And he  _reeks_ of alcohol.  
  
From the looks on the other students faces, they can smell it, too, as Trevor shuffles to his seat and drops bodily into the cramped seat with a grunt. He doesn’t say anything to anyone, but that’s par for the course.  
  
Sypha can feel her anger building in her chest the whole class period. It starts a low-burning buzz under her skin until she feels hot all over watching him fumble through class like he’s not completely sloshed.  
  
Should she say something in front of everyone? Make an example of him so no one else will think to follow his example? Or pretend like she didn’t see what was so blatantly obvious and let it slide?  
  
But how  _dare_ he? She thinks as she snaps at the class to turn to their readings from Monday. He’s left her in a bad mood that she takes out on the rest of the class, and she’s sure tomorrow she’ll wake up feeling guilty, but right now all she can think about is the white-hot burning in her chest, the angry flip of her stomach and the shaking of her hands.  
  
She feels like she can hardly focus on the class, so she gives up halfway through and scraps her plans for the day. She tells them the reading for the night and sets them to it early, letting them get a head start on it in class. Trevor doesn’t even pretend to open his book or do the reading.  
  
She reaches her breaking point five minutes before class is over, anyway.  
  
“Everyone, go ahead and leave early,” she grinds out. Excited chatter breaks out at that and she has to raise her voice as she steps up to Trevor’s desk and glowers down at him. “Belmont. See me after class.”  
  
Most of the students rush to get out of there; it’s clear they can tell this is going to be ground zero and don’t want to get caught in the crossfire, though a few loiter around the door to hear the fallout.  
  
Sypha doesn’t say anything to them; she doesn’t have to, just fixes them with a pointed look and doesn’t look away until they scram.  
  
Trevor hasn’t even bothered to move from his seat, just slumped further down.  
  
It’s a shame her stare alone can’t kill a man, because he’d be dead twice over if that were the case. “Well, Trevor? Do you have anything to say for yourself?”  
  
He just.  _Grunts._ Sypha wants to scream, or rip her hair out. But she’s a  _teacher_ now, she has to be  _cool and composed and responsible, Ms. Belnades._ Dr. Crawford himself told her  _that._  
  
Uneasy silence settles between them, neither willing to give ground until an unpleasant  _snap_ makes them both jump. Trevor’s whole body tenses up as he jumps out of his seat before he clears his throat.  
  
“Pencil snapped,” he says roughly. He gestures to his desk, where his No. 2 pencil is now split in half. He crosses his arms over his chest. “Never seen that before.”  
  
“Don’t change the subject!” Sypha snaps. “You showed up to  _my_ class  _drunk._ Did you think I wouldn’t notice? Or did you think I  _would,_ and you wanted to get back at me for some— I don’t know, imagined  _slight_ against you?”  
  
“It’s not like that,” Trevor mutters belligerently. His shoulders hunch inwards.  
  
“Oh, it’s ‘not like that,’ huh? Then tell me, Trevor, what  _is_ it like?”  
  
He mutters something under his breath.  
  
“What was that? I couldn’t hear you.”  
  
“I  _said_ it’s none of your business.”  
  
Sypha narrows her eyes. “You  _made_ it my business when you decided to walk into my class drunk. Honestly, it’s ten am and you’re already this bad?”  
  
Trevor laughs humorlessly at that. “Bold of you to assume I ever went to bed.” Sypha gapes at him, stunned. She doesn’t even know how to respond until Trevor rolls his eyes and heads for the door. “I don’t have time for this. I’m leaving.”  
  
“Don’t you dare walk out that door!” she shouts, scrambling at the podium before she picks something up. “You know, I got your midterm back yesterday!”  
  
Trevor freezes and Sypha thinks  _got you_  as he slowly turns back around to look at her, expression blank.  
  
“I was going to give it back to you, but now I don’t think I will,” she continues.  
  
Trevor stares her down, though the effect is ruined by the stupid sunglasses he’s still wearing inside. “That’s  _my_ paper,” he says finally. “You can’t keep it from me.”  
  
“I can and I will.”  
  
“I’ll tell Professor Crawford you’re withholding it from me.”  
  
Sypha lets out a bark of laughter. “By all means,  _Belmont_ , go ahead. I’ll just tell him you showed up to my class  _drunk_ , then we’ll see who he sides with.”  
  
He stands there, silent, for one long moment before he turns away. “Fine,” he says. His voice breaks and any satisfaction Sypha felt with his concession vanishes as he clears his throat. “Keep it. I don’t care.”  
  
“Wh— Trevor, wait—” That wasn’t the answer she was expecting. Sypha scrambles for her things when it’s clear he’s not stopping, shoving everything in her bag before she runs out of the room after him. “Trevor!”  
  
She watches as he hesitates there at the end of the hall right before the doors to head outside. Slowly, he turns around. “What is it, Sypha?” he asks, and she doesn’t think she’s ever heard him sound more empty. It breaks her heart.  
  
“Trevor, please. Listen to what I’m  _really_ saying. I’m worried about you. Please just tell me what’s wrong.”  
  
He’s taken off guard by the vulnerability in her voice, she can see it in the way he falters. Slowly, he turns his body part way back to her.  
  
“Trevor,” she repeats. And it’s soft,  _so soft_ as she reaches out and touches his wrist.  
  
He presses his lips into a thin line and he turns his head away even as he angles his body closer to hers, opening up. He reaches up and takes his sunglasses off, and she watches as the furrow in his brow eases as he slowly opens his eyes. “It’s… the anniversary of my parent’s death.”  
  
Sypha gasps. “Oh, Trevor,” she murmurs, and he jerks his wrist out of her grasp at that.  
  
“Don’t. Just— don’t. I don’t want your pity, Sypha. But you wanted to know, so there it is.”  
  
“Do you… want to talk about it?” she asks carefully.  
  
“No.”  
  
She nods in understanding. “Okay… do you want a distraction, then? One that’s not showing up to your next class drunk?”  
  
He looks at her like he never expected that answer before hesitantly, he nods. “You have no idea.”

* * *

Sypha debates where to take him. She can’t take him to the House or her manager will know she’s skipping class, so she has to look for something off-campus.  
  
“Oh, I know!” she says excitedly as they head for the edge of campus. The humanities building is on the opposite corner, so it’s a bit of a trek. “Let’s go the the aquarium!”  
  
“The aquarium,” Trevor repeats skeptically.  
  
“Yes, have you been before? I love going on my days off. It’s just over an hour by bus, but trust me, it’s worth it.” She checks her phone, face falling a little. “Oh, I think the next bus is arriving in five minutes. I don’t think we’ll make it…”  
  
“We can just take a Lyft.”  
  
Sypha raises an eyebrow. “You… know that will be expensive, right?”  
  
Trevor shrugs. “It’s fine,” he says dismissively, and Sypha only hesitates for a few seconds before she shrugs.  
  
“Well, if you’re sure.”  
  
So they call a Lyft as they reach the edge of campus, and Sypha watches as the city bus pulls away right as they’re walking up. She takes the opportunity to sit on one of the benches, digging through her bag for her water bottle so she can hold it out to Trevor. “Here. It will help you sober up.”  
  
Trevor takes the water bottle as he sits down next to her, and she doesn’t even feel annoyed when he finishes off half the bottle in one go.  
  
“Tickets are twenty dollars,” she chatters while they wait. He’d said he wanted a distraction, and by God she was going to give it to him. “I hope that’s not too much on top of the Lyft? Actually, let me check how much money I have and maybe—”  
  
“Sypha.” That’s all he says; just her name. But it stops her in her tracks when he turns his body to face her, and gives her a smile— small but real. “It’s fine.”  
  
He says  _it’s fine_ and she hears his  _thank you_ between the words and she reaches out and rests her hand on his on the bench, smiling back.  
  
“You should brush your hair, though,” she says after a few seconds. She watches the gentle smile on his face fall and laughs to herself.  
  
“I— what? I… don’t have a hairbrush.”  
  
“That’s fine!” she grabs her bag and pulls it into her lap, digging through it. “I think I have one on me, actually, one second…”  
  
“You just have a— okay.” Trevor shakes his head. “Oh, would you look at that, our Lyft is here. Come along, Sypha.”  
  
She’s still digging in her bag as she climbs into the car after him without looking. “Ah-hah!” she proclaims, brandishing a hairbrush proudly in the air. “Told you,” she says slyly as she hands it over. “Honestly, you should brush your teeth, too.”  
  
Trevor’s already started brushing his hair into something a little more respectable. “If you’re about to tell me you just have toothpaste and a spare toothbrush, I  _will_ call bullshit.”  
  
Sypha rolls her eyes. “No, I don’t have a spare toothbrush. Although…I might have mints. One second.”  
  
“Sypha, what the fuck.”  
  
“What?” she says defensively as she shoves a pen between her teeth. “I just like to be prepared.”  
  
“I can’t understand you with that pen in your mouth,” he teases.  
  
Sypha rolls her eyes again before she pulls out a tin of mints, too, just as she’d said, and holds them out to Trevor. He sighs, but he takes it anyway and pops one in his mouth. And, he has to admit, between the water and those two small things he already feels a little more ready to face the world.  
  
It takes them about twenty-five minutes to get to the aquarium, and Sypha claps her hands in delight as they climb out of the car. “You’re something of a pro, aren’t you?” he says as she leads him into the line.  
  
Except, ‘pro’ doesn’t even begin to cover it once they get inside. He pays for her ticket despite her protests (“think of it as a thank you,” is the final appeal that works), and she takes his hand as she pulls him inside. She points out display signs as she power walks, telling him which exhibits they have to see and which are less important, and which are hard passes.  
  
“Unless there’s anything you wanted to see?” she asks after she’s already drawn up a game plan.  
  
Trevor shakes his head. “By all means, continue. You clearly know what you’re doing here more than I do. I’m just along for the ride.”  
  
She beams at him, and takes him to the manta rays.

* * *

They end up spending the whole day there. There’s cute decorations hung up for Halloween that Sypha coos over, little paper bats that Trevor hates the look of and tiny pumpkins that are, admittedly, adorable.  
  
And Sypha seems to have facts about every exhibit that they visit.  
  
“Did you know the fastest fish in the ocean can swim up up to 68 miles per hour? It’s called a sailfish,” and “octopi have three hearts and blue blood. Most people seem to know that one, though. Did you hear that story of the octopus that memorized the security guards route and would climb out of his tank every day after they passed his display? They’re  _incredibly_ smart,” and “some sea turtles can stay underwater for up to  _five hours._ Isn’t that amazing?”  
  
“You know a lot about aquatic life,” Trevor says as they meander through the gift shop at the end of the day. They each have salted pretzels in hand.  
  
Sypha blushes a little as she rips off a piece of her pretzel and dips it in cheese. “When I was a little girl my family and I travelled to the— the—” she frowns, “sorry, I’m having trouble remembering the English name.  _Marea Neagră—_ uh…”  
  
“Black Sea,” he supplies. “The English name. It’s the Black Sea, right?”  
  
“Yes!” She looks impressed. “The Black Sea. I loved it. I wanted to stay there forever. After that I wanted to know everything there was to know about the ocean.”  
  
“And of course you had practice with that sort of thing,” he says before he can think better of it.  
  
Sypha’s brow furrows. “What’s… that supposed to mean?” she says suspiciously.  
  
“Oh. I, uh— it’s just, you’re a Speaker, aren’t you?”  
  
He can feel the way Sypha tenses up beside him. “Why do you say that?”  
  
“I just… assumed. I recognized your accent, and you used the Speaker word for your grandparents when you told me about them. Not Romanian.”  
  
She presses her lips together, looking upset before she lifts her chin stubbornly. “And?”  
  
He looks confused. “And what?”  
  
“That’s it? You don’t have anything to say about it?”  
  
“...No?”  
  
That throws her for a loop, and Sypha finally looks up at him for the first time in the conversation, shoulders slumping. “I—sorry. I guess you caught me off guard.”  
  
“People normally give you trouble when they find out,” he says; it’s not a question.  
  
Sypha nods, chewing on her words. “…I’ve always been so proud to be a Speaker. We do  _good_ for people, even when they don’t want to see it. I fought hard to make sure people knew who I was and where I came from.  
  
“But when I came to America…” she looks away, thoughtful. “I don’t know. Most people… they didn’t immediately recognize that I was a Speaker. For the first time in my life, I wasn’t facing slurs being hurled in my face whenever I tried to go anywhere, or told that they wouldn’t serve ‘my people.’ I spent so much of my life resisting it that I never even realized there was another way. And once I did it was… alluring, I guess.”  
  
Trevor nods slowly. “I can’t say I understand. But, for what it’s worth… I think it must have been a very hard decision to make.”  
  
“I’m not ashamed,” she insists. “And I’m not hiding it. I guess I just didn’t realize you knew.” She blinks a few times, eyes going a little misty. “We should— we should go, probably.”  
  
He’s long since learned when to let something go, so he just nods and lets her take the lead. She leads him out to the curbside pick-up for Lyft and Uber, though he doesn’t call them just yet as she takes a seat on the curb. He sits down next to her instead, wincing against the cold concrete.  
  
“We had a tribe of Speakers who always used to pass through our town every year, when I was a child,” he says after a few minutes of silence. “My family, they were always friendly with Speakers; my father would offer money or supplies if they needed it. And… we had a lake nearby, that would freeze over. The Speakers would always pass through near the beginning of winter, and every year the first thing the other children and I would do when they arrived was test whether the lake was frozen enough for us to skate on.” He stares out into the parking lot, lost in his memories.  
  
Sypha looks lost in thought, too, though she looks over at Trevor with a fragile smile.  
  
“Some of my friends, they tell me I’m rooted now. That I’m not a real Speaker anymore, or that I won’t come back,” she admits.  
  
“Well that just sounds like a load of bullshit.”  
  
Sypha looks up, surprised. “What?”  
  
“Sorry, I just— who the hell are they to tell you what you are or aren’t? There’s nothing wrong with wanting to get an education. And not that it’s any of their business, but didn’t you tell me you’re sending money back to your grandparents? No one else gets to tell you if you’re ‘a real Speaker,’ or not.” Sypha stares at him until Trevor looks away, embarrassed. “Sorry—”  
  
“No,” she interrupts. “You’re right. To hell with them. I know who I am. And I know why I’m doing this, even if they don’t understand. Speakers carry the knowledge of the world in their hearts. And I love Philosophy, and what better knowledge to carry than the arguments on the nature of humanity?”  
  
When she smiles at him, Trevor feels something squeeze tight in his chest. But it doesn’t hurt, and he doesn’t feel like he’s losing his breath, it’s just...warm.  
  
“My parents died when I was a kid,” he blurts out, emboldened by her honesty with him. Sypha looks surprised, but it morphs into understanding after a few moments. She stays quiet and just lets him talk. “I think I was… six? Six or seven. They went out for some stupid Halloween party or something. Fog rolled in on their drive home and they ended up wrapped around the base of a tree on the drive home.  
  
“Woke up the next morning to the police and no parents.”  
  
“Trevor…”  
  
Trevor looks away. “I told you I didn’t want your pity, Sypha.”  
  
“It’s not pity,” she murmurs. She scoots closer, leaning against his shoulder. “It’s  _empathy._ I know it’s not the same thing, but my parents died when I was young, too. About ten. My grandparents raised me from then on.” They both fall silent. “So what happened then?”  
  
Trevor looks down at his hands, folded in his lap. “My Aunt Edelie moved back from the UK to take care of me, until she died, too. No other family after that. None that wanted me, anyway.”  
  
“None that…?”  
  
Trevor laughs a little humorlessly. “My mother’s side of the family cut her off after she married my father, though I don’t know why. When they tracked my grandparents down they refused to take me in. Said I’d bring demons into their home.”  
  
He feels Sypha curl her arms around his bicep and hold him there, her head still pressed to his shoulder blade as they sit in silence.  
  
“Thank you for telling me,” she says finally.  
  
“Thank you for listening. And for this.” He gestures around him.  
  
“You’re welcome— oh!”  
  
“Oh?”  
  
“Your paper!” Sypha says, flipping open her bag to begin digging through it. “I almost forgot about it. Here! It’s yours.”  
  
Trevor stares at the paper in her hands. It’s flipped upside down, so he still can’t see the grade. He hesitates for only a moment before he reaches out and takes the paper, his fingertips brushing hers before she pulls her hand back and brushes her hair out of her face a bit bashfully. Slowly, he flips it right side up and reads the grade there: 72/100  
  
“I did it,” he says, sounding shocked. He looks up at Sypha as that sinks in before his eyes widen and he laughs incredulously. “I did it! Sypha, I did it!”  
  
“You did it!”  
  
He jumps up and grabs her up in a bear hug and spins her around, still laughing. “I knew I could do it with your help! Best tutor in the  _fucking_ world, you are. I did it!”  
  
“I knew you could.”  
  
And they stay there like that for a good few seconds until they both seem to come to their senses. Trevor quickly drops Sypha back to the ground, scratching the back of his neck as Sypha turns her body partially away.  
  
“We should— probably head back now, huh?” He looks at her; looks away the moment she turns to look at him.  
  
“Yes, that’s. Probably a good idea.”  
  
But when they sit back down, still their hands find each other between them, inching just close enough to brush and no further.

* * *

  _Trevor dreams of Sypha, walking through the doors of his childhood home; it looks different, but he would recognize that grand staircase and the open foyer anywhere._  
  
_She looks upset as she closes the door and removes a head scarf. She looks old; laughter lines that would normally bring life and wisdom and beauty to her face— right now they just make her look tired. “I couldn’t find him,” she says. She’s dressed in traditional Speaker garb._  
  
_Trevor reaches out and pulls her into his arms and just holds her there. “We’ll find him,” he promises._  
  
_“But what if we don’t? What if he doesn’t_ want  _to be found?”_  
  
_“C’mon, Sy; it’s us. He’s not going to just leave us out to dry after everything. Have some faith.”_  
  
_She seems to laugh a little despite herself. “That’s rich coming from you, Trevor Belmont. Normally I’m the one with the faith talk.”_  
  
_“I suppose I’ve learned from the best, Sypha Belmont.”_  
  
_“_ Belnades- _Belmont, thank you.”_  
  
_And Trevor laughs and smooths her hair down before he kisses the crown of her head._  
  
“I miss him, too,” Trevor wakes with the words on his lips. He rolls over in bed, reaching out for one of his pillows to pull into his arms. He clutches it there, and it’s like he can feel the weight of loneliness pressing down on him from the dream.  
  
Him who?  
  
He thinks the question idly, but it’s— _bizarrely—_ Adrian’s face that comes to mind.  
  
Trevor buries his face in his pillow, shaking his head, and thinks of Sypha instead, looking older but no less beautiful.  
  
He’s infatuated. He knows he is, has known since the first time she smiled at the class on day one, but this is the first time he’s dreamt about any sort of real legitimate future with her before. It’s weird, right? That’s fucking weird.  
  
It takes him the better part of an hour to finally fall back to sleep. But it’s in those moments, that half-stage between sleep and wake, that he slips the memory on like an old favored shirt. His defenses down, he thinks of Sypha and Adrian and he mourns and longs and remembers the aching fear of loss that had hung over them like a shroud for years.

 


	5. Part I | Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trevor and Sypha go on a not-date. The plot begins to reveal itself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: For Trevor's alcoholism. We all know it's canon, but he and Sypha have a discussion about it in this chapter.
> 
> This is a particularly meaty chapter, but it just didn't feel right to cut it anywhere sooner, so enjoy! Head's up, I'm looking to post Tuesdays/Fridays going forward.
> 
> Let me know what you think!

The next day passes in a blur. All told, the week is probably one of the tamer he’s experienced since this involuntary tradition began. He tells as much to Sypha that Friday at their tutoring session. Nerves buzz at the back of his mind, afraid she’ll give him that look of pity again, but she surprises him.  
  
She laughs. “I’d hate to have seen what the other years looked like, then.”  
  
He’s distracted all session, though, and although he suspects Sypha notices, she does him the favor of forging on and not saying anything on the matter. He appreciates it.  
  
“Let’s go out tonight,” he says after his third attempt at reading their assignment for the weekend. He can’t even process what’s on the first page.  
  
Sypha looks up from where she’s working on her own homework, startled. “What—?”  
  
“You heard me.” He grins at her.  
  
“We just went to the aquarium on Wednesday,” she reminds him.  
  
“That was a distraction.  _This_ is a celebration. It’s the weekend, and I passed my fucking midterm, didn’t I? So let’s go out and  _celebrate_.”  
  
Sypha bites her lip. “Trevor, I’m not so sure if that’s a good idea…”  
  
“It doesn’t have to be a date if you don’t want it to be,” he says; apparently reading her mind.  “You’re my teacher, but you’re also my friend, if you’ll have me. Especially after Wednesday.” His voice softens. “Not many people would have faced that sort of thing head-on, Sypha.”  
  
She looks away, embarrassed. “You were being a disruption in my class—”  
  
“That’s not what I’m talking about. I told you what was wrong and most people would have given me some platitude and run far,  _far_ away. But you stayed; so thank you.”  
  
“I…” she looks around before she seems to decide to throw caution to the wind. “Aw,  _fuck it,”_ she says. She slams her book closed and Trevor laughs. “Why not. What did you have in mind?”

* * *

 He takes her to a nightclub downtown, about twenty minutes away.  
  
“Trevor where are we  _going?_ ” she asks as he leads her through the heart of the nightlife district. The drive is congested enough that he’d had them dropped off a few blocks back so they could walk the rest of the way there.  
  
There’s several bars along this strip of the street, and despite the anxious air that’s settled over the city from all the disappearances that have happened, most of them still have lines already spilling out onto the sidewalk. Music pulses from inside everyone one of them and leaves a mish-mash of beats for them to follow. It is, after all, seven o’clock on a Friday. “I’m— look at me, Trevor, I’m not really dressed for this.”  
  
Trevor looks back at her obligingly. He’s got his hand in hers to keep them from getting separated, and she’s wearing jeans and sneakers and a worn-out white t-shirt. Clothes she’d worked in. “You look wonderful, Sypha,” he says. And it’s so genuine that she can hear her heart pound in her ears.  
  
“I— shut up.” She has to look away and keeps her eyes on her shoes for the rest of the walk until Trevor pulls up short and drops her hand. “Trevor?”  
  
He’s led her to the front of the line at The Alley Cat, one of the newer and more popular bars downtown. “Evening, Cal,” he greets the bouncer easily. He lifts a hand in hello.  
  
The guy looks them both over and Sypha’s  _sure_ he’s going to kick them to the back of the line  _at best._ Despite what Trevor told her, she’s  _not_ dressed for a club and some of these places are strict about dress code. But Cal just steps aside for them to pass. “Two?”  
  
Trevor smiles slightly and it sets off butterflies in her stomach; thank goodness he’s too busy to notice. “Two,” he repeats.  
  
The guy laughs a little. “Guess there’s a first time for everything. Go on in; I’ll let Mitch know you stopped by.”  
  
Trevor fist bumps the guy as they’re ushered in. “Thanks, Cal.”  
  
Sypha gives Trevor a curious look as they head inside. He seems to know the place well and doesn’t stop as he heads straight for the roped-off stairs to the second story.  
  
It’s not as bad as Sypha prepared herself for. It’s still early so no one is completely sloshed on the dance floor, and it’s actually less nightclub and more bar. There’s a stage to their right with a DJ, and there’s a dance floor with a sizable crowd in front of it, but the entirety of the upstairs is made up of tables for people to dine. They line the perimeter of the room so every table has a view of the downstairs.  
  
There’s less people upstairs, too, which is a blessing. Trevor guides her to one of the tables for two and motions for her to sit first. He doesn’t pull out her chair for her, which she takes as his way of making sure this remains as platonic as possible, and she’s grateful for it.  
  
“So how does someone like  _you_ jump straight to the front of the queue in a place like this?” she teases him.  
  
“I bounced for them this summer,” Trevor says as one of the waitstaff approach them and gives them two menus, and they’re just as friendly as the bouncer.  
  
Sypha frowns a little. “Bounced for them this summer…? Wait, how old— were you old enough to do that?”  
  
Trevor pretends like he’s too engrossed in his menu to answer. She’s about to push it, before their waiter comes back for their orders before she can.  
  
“Whiskey,” Trevor requests.  
  
“Two, please,” Sypha requests. She holds up two fingers and the guy nods. Trevor looks impressed.  
  
“Anything else I can get for the two of you?”  
  
Trevor and Sypha share a look of communication before Trevor shakes his head. “That’s all for now; thanks, Armando.”  
  
“Sure, thing, T. Mitch’ll be happy to see you.”  
  
Sypha watches their waiter until he’s an acceptable distance away for her to turn narrow eyes on Trevor. “You’re an undergrad, you’re old enough to be here, right? They didn’t card us at the door and they didn’t card you just now. And you say you bounced for them, but bouncing doesn’t get you the VIP treatment you’re getting. And who is Mitch?!”  
  
Trevor rolls his eyes as he slumps an elbow on the table and drums his fingers there. “Is this the Spanish Inquisition or something? I… may have put some money into the place when Mitch was trying to get it off the ground. I  _was_ bouncing for the summer, but I got the job as a favor to me more than anything else. I look older than I am.”  
  
“And how old  _are_ you?” she presses.  
  
He stops drumming his fingers. “...I turn twenty next month.”  
  
Sypha gasps. “Trevor!”  
  
“What? I’m still a Romanian citizen, and you know the US drinking age is all bullshit anyway.”  
  
“You could still get in trouble for it! What are you going to do if you get arrested for it?”  
  
He shrugs like he doesn’t get the problem, and answers like he’s done this before. “Get my lawyer to post bail for me.”  
  
“You realize you’re risking your visa, right?”  
  
“I don’t need you to lecture me, Sypha,” he sighs.  
  
There’s… a lot more under the surface than he’s letting on. She can’t help the current of concern that runs through her, and she wants to push it; but despite the slouch in his seat, she suspects he’s tenser than he lets on. He reminds her of a wild animal cornered sometimes, so she decides to leave it be for the time being.  
  
“Okay,” she says instead of pushing. “Fine, okay. Just one more question.”  
  
“Oh no.”  
  
“Sorry if this is insensitive, but. Trevor, are you rich?”  
  
He lets out a bark of laughter, startled. “I’m… well off.”  
  
“Hm.” She looks unimpressed. “That’s what rich people say.”  
  
Trevor laughs “I guess they do,” he concedes. “But that’s what happens when you’re the only heir left to a small family fortune.”  
  
She hadn’t thought of it like that, and the fact that it’s blood money certainly puts a damper on it. She suspects that Trevor, thus far in his life, hasn’t been in the best mental state to process the emotional baggage that came from money raising you instead of family.  
  
“Trevor!” a voice calls over the music before they can get too morbid.  
  
Trevor actually stands up. “Mitch!” he shouts, opening his arms as a gorgeous blonde woman with her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail steps up and lets Trevor wrap her in a hug and—  
  
A woman? This “Mitch” is a woman?  
  
“I haven’t seen you for a good month,” the woman says as the finally stop hugging. Even then, they don’t let go of one another. Mitch keeps one arm wrapped around his waist and it takes all of Sypha’s will not to let her eyes stray there. “What the hell have you been up to?”  
  
Trevor shrugs and Sypha feels something burning flare in her chest. There’s no need for them to stand there like that. It’s unnecessary. “I’ve been busy.”  
  
Finally. Finally, Mitch pulls away from him and looks him over. There’s something searching in her gaze, and it’s like the burning envy roiling inside her pauses as it takes stock of the look. It’s not romantic, she doesn’t think. “You’re not getting into trouble, right?” the woman asks, her voice going soft.  
  
“Tch.” Trevor rolls her eyes and shoves her shoulder. “Dunno what sort of trouble I  _could_ get up to. I don’t have time these days. Mitch, this is my friend Sypha. She’s been tutoring me in Philosophy for the past two months. And let me tell you, if you were curious, I’m  _shit_ at Philosophy.”  
  
He doesn’t call her his teacher. She feels relieved by that, but won’t let herself examine why too deeply.  
  
“I wasn’t curious; I just figured that would be the case.”  
  
“Oh, fuck you. I see how it is!”  
  
They bicker back and forth as Mitch pulls up a third chair to the table and they both sit down, and Sypha envies the familiarity between them. She feels like she’s encroaching and is ready to excuse herself for the restroom when Trevor downs the last of his glass of whiskey and slams it on the table.  
  
“What’s a guy have to do to get some more alcohol?”  
  
“Go grab a bottle from Andre downstairs.”  
  
Trevor scowls. “Why do I have to be the one to go get it? It’s your bar,” he mutters.  
  
Mitch rolls her eyes. “Tell Andre it’s on the house. Besides, he’ll want to see you.”  
  
Trevor grumbles, but he stands obligingly and heads for the stairs, anyway. Mitch watches him until he’s halfway down the stairs, a thoughtful look on her face.  
  
“I’ll be right back—” Sypha starts in an effort to escape a potential awkward silence without Trevor’s presence.  
  
Mitch cuts her off. “Sypha, right?”  
  
“Ah— yes. That’s right.”  
  
Mitch nods. She’s still staring down at Trevor, and Sypha follows her line of sight. He’s chatting with the bartender easily.  
  
“If you’re planning to threaten me for his honor or something—” Sypha starts, but Mitch’s abrupt laughter makes her stop.  
  
“Sorry,” the other woman says. “That’s not— look, I don’t know if it’s because of you or some other reason, but if he really has been with you instead of here, then I’m glad.”  
  
Sypha frowns slightly. “He really comes here that often?”  
  
Mitch nods, looking somber. “Most weeks more often than not. But he hasn’t been here at all for the past month. Honestly, I was getting worried. But he looks good.”  
  
“Why do you let him come so often?” Sypha pushes. “You know he’s underage, right?”  
  
Mitch finally looks up from Trevor and fixes Sypha with a steady look. “Of course I know that. But it was let him drink here where we could keep an eye on him or leave him to drink God knows where. At least this way I can make sure he ends up in a Lyft home at the end of the night and not passed out in a ditch somewhere else. You care about him, and that’s great, but you clearly weren’t around at the worst of it. When I first met him, he was using a fake ID to buy shitty liquor, and then he’d pass out on the street or in a park more often than not. I was scared he was going to get himself killed. So I opened this place and I gave him an open invitation to keep an eye on him; and he showed up alone, drank alone, and left alone. We’d be lucky if we got one good conversation out of him a night. He cleaned up his act a little when I got him a job bouncing, and then school started and he stopped coming around and I was scared he’d gone on a bad bender.”  
  
It sounds… so different from the Trevor she’s gotten to know. Quiet, contemplative Trevor. But even as she thinks that, she thinks of the Trevor she’d seen on Wednesday, drunk and angry and torn between fighting the world tooth and nail and just rolling over and letting it beat him down.  
  
“But then he showed up here today with you.” Sypha shakes herself out of her thoughts and looks at Mitch. Her expression has softened. “And I don’t know if this change is because of you, but I suspect it is. He talks to you differently. I mean—” she laughs humorlessly. “It sounds like he talks to you at all, beyond griping about whatever he wants to complain about. He actually  _fucking_ talks to you. I’m honestly a little jealous that I couldn’t be what he needed, but that’s life for you, I guess.”  
  
Sypha stares at the woman, fitting this new knowledge into the slots of the opinions she’d begun to form. She wants to ask more, and it must be written on her face, because Mitch is already shaking her head.  
  
“I’m not here to air out his dirty laundry. The rest is up to him whether he wants to talk or not.” Something shifts, and Mitch looks up and over Sypha’s shoulder.  
  
“Took you long enough!” she shouts. The moment is broken as Trevor takes his seat and sets the bottle of whiskey on the table with a thump.  
  
“Fuck off, Mitch!”  
  
She rolls her eyes and stands up. “You know what, I think I will. Unlike  _you_ , I’ve got an actual job to do.”  
  
Trevor’s already refilling his glass and gives her a flippant wave. He holds the bottle up in offering to Sypha, and she smiles and nods as he tops off her glass, too. “See you when I see you, Mitch.”  
  
She ruffles his hair with a smile he can’t see before she pulls a business card out of her breast pocket and sets it on the table for Sypha. “If you ever need something just give me a holler.”  
  
“And don’t think I’m footing the bill for this,” she barks at Trevor. “I covered the whiskey, be grateful. And don’t forget to tip!”  
  
“You’re not my keeper!” he shouts back, but Mitch is already heading for the stairs and she flips him off without looking behind herself.  
  
Mitch, it seems, is short for Michelle D’Souza; Sypha makes note of it as she tucks the business card into her bag and looks back at Trevor.  
  
“Alright,” Trevor says as he puts his arm on the table and looks back at Sypha. “What’s the damage. What lies did she tell you?”  
  
Sypha shakes her head. “No lies,” she says. “Just… you used to come here a lot.”  
  
Trevor shrugs noncommittally. “I wasn’t lying when I said philosophy’s been keeping me busy. And then… I dunno, the rest of the time it didn’t seem necessary.”  
  
“How did the two of you meet?”  
  
Trevor actually looks embarrassed when she asks that, scratching his cheek absently with his forefinger as he looks away. “I, uh…she kicked me in the head.”  
  
“She—what?” Sypha furrows her brow, trying to connect the two in her mind.  
  
“Last winter,” he starts, not looking at her, “I…went on a bit of a bender. Small one.” He pinches his fingers together, demonstrating. “I ended up sleeping on the streets for a couple weeks and spent most of that time hammered.  
  
“Mitch ended up in the shadier part of town looking for a place to lease for her bar. Literally stumbled over me sleeping in the doorway when she was trying to look inside the storefront. Kicked me in the head, and felt guilty enough about it that she ran down to the corner store and bought me a sandwich and a bottle of water in apology.  
  
“It was…the first time, I think, anyone had shown me genuine kindness in—psh, I don’t know when. Before the orphanage, probably. She sat with me while I ate the sandwich, talked about what she was doing out there. Something about it stuck with me. So when she left, I finally managed to drag myself home, showered, paid my rent that was a week late, and…tried to figure myself out before school started again.  
  
“I went back there every day for a week after trying to catch her. Finally saw her again the day she was supposed to sign the lease on this crappy building, and convinced her to come to the bank with me so I could invest in her bar. Told her she should start by using the money to get a better venue.”  
  
“And she just decided to believe the smelly man on the street?”  
  
Trevor lets out a quiet laugh. “Fair enough,” he concedes. “But in my defense, I’d cleaned up by that point and looked like an actual human fucking being.”  
  
Sypha goes quiet, chewing on his whole story as Trevor watches her silently. “You still drink,” she says after a moment. She really doesn’t mean to lecture, but he doesn’t take it as such, waving her concern away.  
  
“I’m fine,” Trevor says dismissively. “I can stop whenever I want to.”  
  
Sypha doesn’t know if she believes him for the first time that night, but she believes that  _he_ believes it, and she senses that now is not the time to push it. After a moment, she reaches out to put her hands on his. “Well no matter what, I’m glad you found what you needed to,” she says.  
  
Trevor looks away; he feels like a raw nerve, exposed, and he doesn’t know why he keeps telling her these things but he  _does._ “When I first came to America, I think I felt lost. I came here hoping that leaving Romania would give me a fresh start, but I just felt untethered. It grounded me, I think.”  
  
_Like_ you  _ground me_ , he thinks. He thinks it but the words remain unspoken: too much, too soon. Still, he can feel the truth in them, the way Sypha’s presence serves to remind him who he is. It’s not that she reflects him—only that her steadfast companionship gives him room to explore the depths of himself that he’d never been allowed to explore before. Sypha squeezes his hand; smiles at him. Trevor smiles back.

* * *

 He doesn’t know how it happens, but they end up staying there late, until the bar closes at two. Sypha’s tipsy but not drunk, having paced herself throughout the night, and she curls her arms around Trevor’s bicep as they stumble out onto the street.  
  
“I don’t want to go back yet,” she declares when Trevor tries to call a Lyft. She steals his phone and runs with it, getting only a storefront away before he catches up to her, scooping her up in his arms and spinning her around, sending them both laughing.  
  
“Fine,” Trevor concedes. His cheeks are rosy with alcohol. “If I promise not to call us a ride will you give me my phone back?”  
  
“Hm…” She pretends to think about it for a second before she passes it over. “I suppose. Let’s get something to eat!”  
  
“We just ate,” Trevor reminds her agreeably.  
  
“ _No,_ we just ate  _dinner._ Now I want breakfast.”  
  
“Alright, alright. How about pancakes?”  
  
So they head for the IHOP that Trevor tells her is about three blocks away. Sypha hums and talks and hums some more along the way.  
  
“Are all Speakers this chatty when they’re drunk?” Trevor teases lightly.  
  
“Only the good ones,” she giggles. “We have so much up— here—” she gestures vaguely to her head “—that we keep bottled up inside all the time. A quiet Speaker is a bad Speaker— oh. Trevor.” She points to the darkened storefront as they get closer. “They’re closed.”  
  
She’s right. Trevor frowns at the closed doors and glances at the store hours, but she’s right. They’re closed.  
  
“That’s fine,” he says. “We can just walk until we find somewhere else.”  
  
“Alright,” Sypha agrees. She falls back into his personal bubble easily, but for some reason Trevor doesn’t mind so much with her.  
  
But it’s two-thirty in the morning, and as they begin to wander the streets in search of an open breakfast place Trevor realizes they’ve started to move out of the more bustling parts of the city. He’s not worried, not quite; too cocky and self-assured in his own prowess, but he does think about those missing person reports and it puts him on edge.  
  
Distantly, he can hear the sound of other bar goers laughing as they make their way through the streets, too. But here, on this stretch of the road, it’s deserted. There’s headlights in the distance but they’re so far away.  
  
Sypha picks up on their surroundings, too. She looks around uneasily. “Trevor,” she murmurs.  
  
“I know.”  
  
She straightens so she’s not hanging onto him anymore and wraps a tight grip around the strap of her messenger bag crossed over her body.  
  
They’re caught in that in-between space between two street lamps when they hear the first dull  _thud_ reach both of their ears from up ahead. Trevor feels fear crawl its slimy way down his spine and wrap itself around his heart. He doesn’t know how he knows, but whatever is in the dark here with them is not natural, and he’s never been more sure of anything in his life.  
  
Second to that, he knows that they can’t reach that next street lamp without passing whatever lays in wait in the darkness.  
  
“Who’s there?” Sypha calls out, raising her voice. It feels like her words can barely pierce the oppressive, sinister aura that has settled itself around them. Trevor feels like he can’t breathe. “Show yourself!”  
  
There’s no answer; just there, in the darkness, a pair of eyes. Trevor strains his ears against the silence and thinks, for a second, that he can hear the barest sound of footsteps.  
  
An engine revs, closer than either of them had realized, and it shatters the moment. Trevor looks up into blinding headlights before a white Maserati slams its brakes to stop beside them. The window rolls down.  
  
“Get in,” Adrian orders.  
  
“Adrian?” Sypha’s voice is a mixture of confusion and relief.  
  
“Like hell we will,” Trevor says instead when it’s clear Sypha’s not going to be rational about this. “Have you been following us?”  
  
Adrian levels him with a look that could melt ice. “Trevor. Sypha. Get in the fucking car.”  
  
Whatever is in the dark with them seems to have recovered from its surprise at the same time as them. Something reaches out for him and he feels nails dragging against his skin and Trevor doesn’t need to be told again. Sypha’s already way ahead of him, pulling the car door open and fumbling her way inside. She fumbles over the console and falls into the backseat as Trevor lashes out behind himself before throwing himself into the car after her. Adrian floors it before the door is even closed.  
  
Trevor can’t tear his eyes away from the side mirror as Adrian hits the speed limit and then breaks it. He searches for something in the darkness as Sypha twists around in her seat to look out the back window and do the same, but there’s nothing.  
  
“What the fuck was that.”  
  
Adrian doesn’t answer. He keeps driving in complete silence for another five minutes, driving into a more populated part of town and only then dropping back to the speed limit.  
  
His knuckles are bone-white when Trevor glances over at him, his grip on the steering wheel so tight that Trevor wonders for a second if he’s going to break the wheel clean off.  
  
He can feel anger rolling off Adrian in waves and when he looks at him properly he can see the way it spills from his tense body and moves across his face beneath the surface. There’s more to it, too, fear and concern all competing for dominance while his features remain carefully blank.  
  
Trevor wonders how he could have ever found the man empty when his emotions scream so loudly to him now.  
  
“What,” Adrian enunciates clearly once he’s regained his capacity for speech, “on earth could have possessed the two of you to put yourselves in such a dangerous situation.” He still won’t look at either of them, just keeps his eyes focused straight ahead.  
  
“You know what that thing was,” Trevor accuses before he can think better of it.  
  
Adrian doesn’t answer immediately; weighing his answer and debating the merits of truth and lie, no doubt. Trevor is sure he knows more than he’s letting on.  
  
“Yes,” he says finally, and leaves it at that.  
  
“We were just— out,” Sypha answers, voice small. “We were at a bar and when they closed we were just wandering…”  
  
“And why did you think that was a good idea given the numerous missing persons reports?” Adrian shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter now. I’m taking the both of you home.”  
  
Trevor and Sypha both erupt in protest.  
  
“ _Excuse_ me? You can’t just swoop in and then leave us in the dark—”  
  
“Don’t think you’re getting away with this that easy, buddy—”  
  
“And  _furthermore_ —”  
  
“Alright!” Trevor and Sypha both fall silent as Adrian turns in his seat to look them both over. “I will take you to my hotel, alright? We can discuss there.”  
  
Trevor and Sypha share a look. Finally, they both nod.


	6. Part I | Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we have it, the beginning of an explanation. Still, some secrets remain.

The streets are completely empty this late at night, so the drive back to Adrian’s hotel is quick. Trevor has the brief concern that they’re about to walk into some sort of trap, but it’s overwhelmed by the much larger part of him that feels, strangely, safe in Adrian’s company.

He knows why he’s begun to feel safer around the other man, and it’s the strange, softly affectionate dreams he’s begun to have. He’s irrationally connected the two, and he tries to force himself to separate the Adrian of his dreams from the Adrian next to him.

Still, he’s not too concerned; he’s sure he could take him in a fight if it came down to it.

Adrian pulls up in front of a ritzy hotel that’s a five minute walk from Sypha’s coffee shop and drives straight to valet. He looks completely at home with the rolled up sleeves of his doubtless designer sweater and the bun he’s pulled his blond hair into, but Sypha looks uncomfortable when she crawls out of the car, plucking self-consciously at her sweatshirt as they stand in front of the automatic doors. As soon as she catches sight of Trevor watching her she drops her hands and lifts her chin, and when she follows Adrian inside she looks like the picture of self-confidence.

Trevor almost expects the people at the front desk to start arse-kissing, but at least the hotel doesn’t seem _that_ far up its own arse.

Adrian doesn’t take them to the penthouse either, which: thank God. If he had, Trevor really might have thrown the pretentious bastard out the fucking window.

He takes them to the fourth floor and they follow him in silence as he retrieves his card key from his wallet and lets them inside.

“Make yourself at home,” he says as he flips the light on for them.

Trevor looks around the room curiously. “How long have you been staying here?” he asks, recalling that Adrian curated a travelling museum exhibit.

Adrian shrugs. “Just under three months.”

“It’s barren.” Well, Sypha certainly isn’t pulling her punches. She’s not wrong, but Trevor wasn’t about to say it to Adrian’s face. It looks lived in only in the most basic sense of the word: a few suits hang in the closet, and a laptop sits closed on the desk. He has a suitcase sitting open off in the corner, but even the clothes inside are neatly folded. The only truly personal touch Trevor can see is the stack of books on the bedside table. And at the top of the pile is—

“Is this a Bible?” Trevor says incredulously as he picks it and a rosary up. The beads feel warm, and for a moment Trevor is struck with the half-memory of the quiet, repetitive hours of whittling on a sunlit porch. “This— this hasn’t all been some elaborate scheme to get us to convert...right…?” His joke falls flat when he catches sight of the stricken look on Adrian’s face.

“Trevor!” Sypha gasps, appalled.

“It’s alright,” Adrian murmurs. He sounds winded as he grips the desk chair to his left and supports himself there.

“Oh. Well, if that’s the case, then I’m with Trevor. If you’re here to convert us, you should know God hates all Speakers.”

She says it so matter-of-factly that it catches Trevor off-guard before he lets out a huff of laughter. Adrian laughs, too, which is a good sign, the kind that comes out sounding startled that it was ever there at all, and Adrian only makes it halfway through before the laughter dies in his throat and fades into something more painful.

Sypha’s eyes widen. “Did I say something wrong? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

Adrian shakes his head. “It’s not something you said,” he says. He sounds remarkably calm for someone with clear tear tracks on his face. “It’s only— I missed you both very much—”

Trevor just gives him a blank look. Adrian seems to crumble beneath it, his legs give out on him and Sypha cries out as he brings one hand up to hold her back and the other to cover his face.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m not usually nearly so bad as this, please just. A moment.”

Sypha drops to her knees beside him, but she respects his distance and sits with her hands in her lap as she waits for him. Trevor deliberates before he joins them, too, perching on the end of the bed and watching Adrian as he leans his head back against the desk, eyes closed, and recollects himself.

Trevor watches Adrian, silent, as the man takes a deep calming breath and holds it there in his lungs. He still hasn’t opened his eyes to look at them. And as Trevor watches him work through his own private grief, he’s startled to find he’s not frantic for a way to escape such a frank display of emotion. The open acceptance scares him far more than anything Adrian has done thus far, and _that’s_ what makes him want to run: he’s afraid of not being afraid.

Finally, Adrian exhales and opens his eyes to look them both over as he regains his composure. His eyes are a beautiful, piercing gold; but there’s something warm to them, too.

“Ready to talk about what the fuck is going on now?” Trevor says, because antagonizing people is how he copes with his emotions, like an adult.

“Eat shit and die.”

“Yes, fuck you.” They both pause for a second before they erupt into laughter. Sypha rolls her eyes and makes a noise of disgust.

“Children, both of you,” she says.

For just a moment, Trevor feels _right_ sitting beside the two of them in a way he doesn’t think he _ever_ has before and it leaves him craving more before he clamps down on the feeling.

“Trevor’s right, though,” Adrian says finally. “Loathe as I am to admit it—”

“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?”

Adrian continues as if he hadn’t interrupted. “—I think it’s long since time for me to explain everything. I need your help; both of you. But I don’t think you will like what I have to say.”

Trevor and Sypha exchange a searching look before they both turn back to him. “Tell us.”

Adrian nods. “Alright. Where would you like me to begin?”

“What were you doing out there so late at night?” Sypha starts simple. “You weren’t following us, right?”

And Adrian— Adrian fucking smiles, all sharp teeth and feral looking. “Oh no,” he says, and Trevor feels a shiver down his spine as Adrian stares him down. “I was hunting.”

“Hunting what?” Slowly, Adrian turns from Trevor to look at Sypha for her question. He considers her briefly, weighing her question and his answer to himself before he resolves himself.

“Vampires.”

Trevor reels back like he’s been shocked; Sypha looks thrown off, too, though she recovers with more grace than he. “What the hell are you on about?” Trevor snaps.

“Come now, Belmont, surely you’re not so surprised.”

Trevor furrows his brow. “What...is that supposed to mean?”

Adrian shows his first sign of real confusion, and he glances between Sypha and Trevor, genuinely thrown off. “Do you…really not know?”

Trevor scowls. “I really don’t.”

“That… makes things more difficult. I had assumed your aversion to me stemmed from that…”

“An explanation. Any day now.”

“I—” Adrian sighs. “Alright. I suppose I will start at the beginning in that case, then. My name is Adrian Fahrenheit Țepeș. To the humans of Romania, I am better known by another name: Alucard.”

Sypha gasps, covering her mouth with her hands. Adrian glances sideways at her. “And Sypha, my dear, you may know me by another name as well: the Sleeping Soldier.”

“The—” she starts. Stops. “The Sleeping Soldier? The one from the prophecy, who helped defeat Dracula?”

“The very one.”

“But, ‘Alucard’, that means you’re…”

“Dracula’s son. Yes.”

Trevor can’t fucking take it anymore. “What the bloody shit are you on about.”

Adrian gives him a scathing look. “Vampires, Belmont. Keep up.”

“No, fuck you. You expect me to believe _you’re_ a vampire. Even if I put everything else aside, we’ve seen you outside during the day!”

“...My mother was human,” he says quietly after a moment. “Among other things, it allows me to go outside during the day.”

“So you’re a vampire—half-vampire, _whatever_ —and you’re hunting other vampires? _Why_?”  
  
“I intervene when I find individuals who like to…how to put it…hunt for sport. Surely you’ve noticed the uptick in disappearances recently? Unfortunately, I still do not know the identity of the individual responsible; it’s been all I can do to prevent their attempts at kidnapping.”

Trevor’s already shaking his head. He stands up so he can start pacing. “This is ridiculous. This is absolutely, bloody ridiculous.”

“Shall I bite you?” Adrian inquires. “Would that convince you of my truthfulness?” He flashes his fangs at Trevor when he looks at him. Trevor feels his face warm and he looks quickly away.

“...So why tell us?” Sypha asks once it’s clear neither of the boys are going to speak further. “We were in the wrong place at the wrong time, I get that. You even saved us because you like us—” Trevor sputters at that but she continues on “—but that’s what I don’t get. Why not just drop us back home and leave us in the dark? Unless there’s more you’re not telling us.”

Adrian looks impressed more than anything. A small smile graces his features as he looks Sypha over. “My brilliant Sypha. Too clever for your own good by far.” She looks proud. Adrian lifts a hand like he wants to reach out and touch her before it falls back to his side. “You’re right. There is more I’m not telling you. I…fear you will not believe me if I tell you the rest.”

“It’s alright,” Sypha says. “I will listen to everything you have to say.”

She reaches out when Adrian won’t and takes his hand in her own, giving it a squeeze. And when Adrian looks up from the ground, Trevor thinks he looks at Sypha like a dying man given food and shelter. Desperate. Relieved.

In love.

Trevor has to physically turn himself away. He stands up to go glance out the window, but still he can see their reflection when he stares out. At least this way he doesn’t have to see the look on Adrian’s face.

The story spills from Adrian’s lips, like all he needed was Sypha’s unwavering faith in him. Trevor wouldn’t be surprised if that were the case; Sypha’s faith in him has done strange things to him, too.

“…The two others in the prophecy,” Adrian finally begins.

“The hunter and the scholar,” Sypha confirms.

“Yes. Do you know their names?”

She looks pained. “They’ve…begun a Fading,” she murmurs, swallowing hard. Trevor sees her grip on Adrian’s hand tighten, and he’s not surprised. There’s nothing worse to a Speaker than the loss of history, since once it fades from memory it’s lost forever. As the Speaker tradition goes, Speakers live on after death so long as their stories are told; if they aren’t, they’re Faded. “All we know now is that the scholar was a Speaker woman. Sypha.” She glances up at Trevor out of the corner of her eye. “She was my namesake, a way to keep her story alive.”

“Sypha.” Adrian says her name low and insistent and reaches out to cup her chin in the palm of his hand. “Their story lives on. Their names were Belnades and Belmont, and their stories live on in you.”

Trevor turns around and grabs Sypha by the arm. “We’re done here,” he says flatly.

Sypha yanks her arm out of his grip and rises to her feet. “Trevor! What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” Adrian quickly follows suit, gently touching her arm. Sypha shakes him off, too; too riled to welcome even his touch.

“Oh, come on Sypha, look at him.” He gestures in Adrian’s direction angrily. Sypha puts her hands on her hips and gives him an expectant look. “He’s having you on! He’s preying on you and telling you _exactly_ what you want to hear for—I don’t know! I don’t pretend to know what goes on in the minds of guys like him. But he’s _lying_ to you, Sypha.”

“No.”

“Wha— no?”

“You heard me.” Sypha crosses her arms and when she stares him down it’s almost enough to make him cave right there. Almost. “I said no. You are wrong, Trevor Belmont. Say what you want, but I believe him. You can leave if you want, but I will not go with you.”

“S-Sypha.” He says her name like a beggar, a desperate plea.

But Sypha just presses her lips into a thin line and forges on. “I believe that Adrian is telling the truth. And even if I did not, I told him I would listen to everything he had to say. And a Speaker’s promise is a solemn vow I will not break just because you are— are scared!”

“How can you just— agree, just like that? With no proof?”

Sypha’s eyes soften; her whole body aches to pull him into her arms but she won’t, she needs him to come to them. “That’s what faith is, Trevor. Besides, it’s not faith. Not just that, anyway. I… I’ve been having dreams. I couldn’t explain them before, but Adrian’s explanation— I understand now. It makes sense.” She raises her right hand over her heart. “Can’t you feel that, here?” She slips her left hand into Adrian’s and pulls her right from her heart to reach out to Trevor.

He feels frozen in place; feels the rightness of her words even as his whole body rebels.

Trevor shakes his head and pulls his hand out of Sypha’s grasp, ignoring the flash of hurt that crosses her features. “I have to go,” he mutters.

Neither of them try to stop him.

* * *

 His sleep is haunted that night; nightmares and memories that blur together at the seams. But what he remembers most is this:

_Alucard owns his own Bible. Alucard is a vampire (half). Alucard celebrates Christmas with quiet, fervid devotion. Alucard is (might be) damned._

_Trevor dreams about asking him about the contradictions. Alucard deflects as he’s wont to do. But eventually he bares himself before Trevor, as he’s also prone to do._

_“My mother was devout,” he tells Trevor. “She did not always agree with the Church— she believed science and religion could co-exist together, in harmony, after all— and that is the spirit of what she imparted in me. She believed that men were fallible, and men could be wrong, but that didn’t mean they were wrong all the time. And…” he looks down at his hands. “She believed that her own son deserved more than automatic damnation._

_“I do not know if she is right on that count. But I like to believe that there is a God who would welcome her to heaven regardless of the Church’s stance on the matter. She believed in a kind God, and so do I. One who will thank her for only ever trying to help people.”_

_“And what about you?”_

_Alucard looks up at Trevor, brow furrowed and lips parted. “What?”_

_“What about you?” Trevor repeats. “Where do you believe you will go, when you die?”_

_“I...do not know.”_

_Alucard tells him of early memories. Sitting in his mother’s lap and catching hold of the rosary around her neck. The beads burning him and sending him wailing in her arms._

_She’d immediately gotten rid of the rosary, tossed it in the fire and gathered Adrian up in her arms. She’d bandaged his fingers and kissed every one before she rocked him until he fell asleep._

_Dracula had brought her a new rosary, one that hadn’t been blessed by a priest. “If I may touch it, so may he.”_

_She’d hesitated, but eventually she’d taken the gift. Adrian had avoided it in fear until his father had shown him it was alright himself. Dracula had never been a man of God, but he’d admired Lisa’s devotion, and he’d wanted anything that would make her happy. He’d admired her hope for a man like him, even in the eyes of God, and had done nothing to dissuade her._

_So Adrian had grown up learning the Rosary and saying it with his mother. He’d loved that rosary she kept tucked under her clothes._

_It had burned with her._

_So Trevor arms himself with that knowledge and begins to whittle. It takes a long time with a steep learning curve, and by the end of it the beads sit almost perfectly round and in stark contrast to his first attempts. He spends hours whittling on the porch come summer, sometimes whistling and sometimes singing and sometimes humming and sometimes just sitting there in peaceful silence as he works._

_Sypha joins him occasionally, or Alucard, or both, and those memories are his favorite._

_He finishes the rosary come the end of summer. Alucard doesn’t cry, but his eyes are wet as he gingerly takes the necklace and holds it to close._

_“Thank you, Trevor,” he says, and it’s more than just a thank you for the rosary._

_Trevor touches Alucard’s neck and lets his fingers curl in his hair and just lingers there. “You’re welcome, Alucard.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come find me on Instagram or Twitter if you want to chat about the fic or just scream about Castlevania in general!
> 
> Instagram: mysterionrises  
> Twitter: @starlightshiro


	7. Part I | Chapter 7

Trevor wakes up the next day at noon, just as exhausted as when he’d gone to bed. He thanks God it’s a Saturday so he doesn’t have to worry about class.

When he checks his phone, there’s just two messages from Sypha.

From: Sypha | 4:32 AM  
_Adrian wants you to come to the exhibit when it opens today._

From: Sypha | 4:34 AM  
_So do I. Please come._

He swipes both messages away so he doesn’t have to look at them and rolls over to face plant in his pillow.

It takes him the better part of an hour to get up, and even then it’s only to make the trek to his kitchen and grab a bottle of beer. It’s times like these he’s grateful he doesn’t have a roommate to question him, even when there’s a voice at the back of his mind reminding him how nice it’s been to feel cared about these last few days.

He absolutely doesn’t even consider going to the museum.

He googles the museum’s opening time out of curiosity (10:00 AM, and he’s way past that now), but he doesn’t do anything more strenuous than pull up Netflix on his TV and browse for something to occupy himself with.

Three hours into The Great British Bake-off, Trevor finishes off the last of his six-pack of beer and his last microwave dinner.

He barely makes it five minutes into the next episode before he starts to feel restless.

He’ll just run to the store, pick up another six-pack, and grab Thai food on the way home.

 _That’s it_ , he thinks to himself as he pulls on some pants. It’s just after four (museum closes at six—he remembers reading that online), so that gives him plenty of time.

Just the store. He keeps telling himself that as he passes the mini-mart, rationalizing that there’ll be a larger selection at the grocery store next door to campus if he just goes a little bit farther out of his way.

By the time he reaches the grocery store he’s given up all pretenses. The museum isn’t that much further since it’s technically owned by the university. It’s off-campus, but it’s just a half-mile down the road. And, well, he’s come this far, hasn’t he?

He doesn’t stop until he’s standing outside the double doors of the museum and staring up at the two-story building. There’s a banner for Adrian’s exhibit hung up against the side of the building, an artistic rendition of Count Dracula with the words “A History of Horror” embossed over it.

 _Just a quick look,_ he thinks to himself as he heads up the steps to the front. He forks over ten dollars and his student ID as they tell him the museum is closing in an hour. Trevor nods without hearing a word of it.

“Where can I find that one?” he asks, pointing to a stack of brochures with Adrian’s exhibit on it.

The security guard hands him one of the brochures. “History of Horror? That’s a good one, only here for three more weeks. It’s on the first floor. Go through this door on your left and it’s past the European history exhibit. Enjoy.”

Trevor mutters something that might be thanks as he wanders in. The gift shop sits to his right, filled with a lot of people making last minute purchases before they leave for the evening. Straight ahead is what looks like joint exhibits on the World Wars.

Trevor goes left. The European exhibit walks him backwards through time as he follows its path. Modern history that fades into Elizabethan, Victorian, Medieval. He passes a small room dedicated to Fashion in Versailles, filled with mannequins dressed like French nobility. There’s even a small section on Speakers, their history of oral tradition and some of the stories they’re willing to tell outsiders.

His walk naturally curves to the back with the shape of the building and then, there, he sees another smaller banner, identical to the one hung up on the outside of the building. Trevor crumples the brochure in his hand as he moves closer.

Adrian had mentioned before that it was an examination of European horror both fact and fiction. Each display, so far as he can tell, features blurbs that not only explain what everything is but also its influence on the dominant culture, and how the horror genre was changed by it.

Mary Shelley takes up a decent portion of the exhibit; a wax figure of Frankenstein’s monster stands guard over the display that proclaims her the mother of the modern horror genre. It examines _Frankenstein_ of course, giving fun facts about the number of adaptations that have been made and examining how fears have shifted from Frankenstein’s monster to Frankenstein himself. There’s even a sly jab about Frankenstein’s lack of qualifications as the placard points out that he dropped out of college and wasn’t a real doctor.

There’s another display dedicated to Jack the Ripper, with copies of the most credible letters that were written to media sources around the times of the murders of the Canonical Five.

But the display for Dracula makes up the largest section of the exhibit by far.

 _Little is known about the real Vlad Dracula Țepeș (lit. “the Impaler”),_ the informational placard reads. _Some historians have suggested that he and Vlad III, the_ voivode _, or prince, of Wallachia, are one in the same person, though this claim bears little credibility. More likely, the two were contemporaries with similar enough names that history later combined the two._

_Vlad III appears in Romanian history as a just if vicious tyrant who fought for the Wallachians against the boyars and invading Ottoman Empire._

_Dracula, in contrast, was known to many as the bane of Wallachia. Handwritten accounts of Dracula describe a cruel man isolated inside the walls of his castle near Targoviste, with fields of mutilated bodies kept on spikes to dissuade visitors. Many have claimed that he was the cause of the plague that ravaged the nation of Wallachia in 1476 and killed approximately 150,000 people (over ⅕ of the population of Wallachia at that time). The true cause of the plague is unknown._

_Dracula was the source of inspiration for Bram Stoker’s novel of the same name, published in 1897; and though there is little resemblance between the Count Dracula in Stoker’s novel and the Dracula of folk myth, his legend still persists to this day as a result of the popularity of Stoker’s novel. Over two hundred adaptations across all mediums exist at this time._

_Whether Dracula was a true vampire or not can only be speculated upon today. What do you think? Share your thoughts on twitter at @HoHExhibit._

“What do you think?” a quiet voice asks to his right.

Trevor jumps and turns to the side. Adrian has snuck up behind him and taken his place at Trevor’s side in the course of his reading. His hair is pulled back in a low ponytail today, and he’s dressed in slacks and a dress shirt, hands tucked into his pockets; altogether, he looks gorgeously put together in a way Trevor could only dream of achieving.

Trevor wonders if he’s wearing his rosary.

“Is it true?” he says instead.

Adrian shrugs elegantly. “More or less. A few details are wrong, but they’re details I should have no business knowing.”

“There was no plague,” Trevor says. It’s not a question.

Adrian doesn’t answer immediately. “...Did you remember that?” he asks finally, voice tight. Trevor doesn’t answer, so Adrian continues. “Regardless. You’re correct: there was no plague in Wallachia in 1476. He unleashed demons on the people and blood rained from the sky; of course no self-respecting historian would interpret such accounts so literally.”

“And we…stopped him. Together.”

“Yes.”

They stand there together, quiet.

“What changed your mind?” Adrian asks finally.

“I don’t know,” Trevor tells him honestly. He finally turns to face Adrian fully. “And I don’t even know if I do believe you, yet. But…” he trails off.

“But?”

Trevor looks away. “I’ve been dreaming things, recently. Or, remembering. I don’t know. But every time, you’re always there. You and Sypha. And…being with the two of you last night, it felt…”

“Right?” Adrian supplies, breathless.

“Yes.” Trevor looks back at him again. “Like I said: I still don’t know if I believe you. But I’m willing to at least listen to the rest of what you have to say.”

The look on Adrian’s face is so hopeful it damn near breaks Trevor’s heart then and there, and he has to look away, cheeks warm, before it overwhelms him.

“Are those really Dracula’s ashes?” he asks to change the subject. Adrian turns in the direction he’s pointing, to the small locked chest that sits on a pedestal.

“Yes.”

Trevor’s eyes widen. “You— _really?_ What the bloody hell possessed you to do something like that?”

“I wanted to tell his story. As close to the real story as I could get, anyway. Of course, I realized fairly quickly that most people didn’t want the truth. They wanted the monster.” He shrugs.

A voice comes on over the intercom, interrupting them to announce that the museum will be closing in forty-five minutes.

“Where’s Sypha?” Trevor asks when it ends.

“She went home to sleep once we thought you weren’t coming,” Adrian tells him plainly. “She said she wanted to shower and eat something and that she would come back after closing and we could discuss more.”

The mention of food reminds Trevor why he ventured out of his house in the first place as his stomach growls. “Whoops. That’s… probably not a bad idea.”

“If you’d like,” Adrian starts cautiously, “we could order in. You can come to my office and we can eat there.”

“Do you eat real food? Or just—” he bares his teeth and mimes fangs with his hands. “You know.”

Adrian rolls his eyes, chuckling. “I assure you, I can eat real food. Come on, I’ll show you to my office.”

* * *

Adrian leads him past security and into the back half of the museum. It’s a plain grey hallway with office doors closed up and down the walls. Trevor has the brief thought that he’s being led into a less populated part of the building, but they pass someone who must be another employee before his concerns can take hold too strongly, and Adrian directs him to a door on his right near the middle of the hall.

Adrian’s office is cluttered in a way his hotel room wasn’t, breathing life and humanity into Adrian that does more to put Trevor at ease than anything else: it’s bills and scribbled notes and a print out on work visas, and artwork leaned against walls and statuettes being used as paperweights.

They order Thai food at Trevor’s suggestion.

“Sorry it’s so small,” Adrian apologizes as Trevor circles the room. He idly picks up anything that catches his attention. “Some museums don’t even have this much extra space when the exhibit is featured. I believe this was a storage closet before they cleared it out for me.”

“I don’t care,” Trevor says with a shrug. “How long does the exhibit usually run for?”

“It varies.” Adrian begins doing his best to clear his desk off to give them room to eat dinner. “Our contract runs for three months here. Our next stop is Philadelphia— we open at the Penn for six months in January. Will you tell me about your family?”

“Wow, okay, you’re just jumping right to it, aren’t you.” Trevor drops into the only other empty chair. On the other side of the desk, Adrian does the same, though much more gracefully.

“Sorry,” Adrian apologizes, not sounding particularly sorry at all. “If you’d prefer we can continue talking about unimportant matters until you feel better about yourself.”

“Shut up.” Trevor kicks Adrian’s desk and it makes an unholy screeching sound against the linoleum. They both make a face, before catching sight of the other’s expression and breaking into laughter.

There’s a knock at the door that neither of them hear. “Adrian,” a woman’s voice calls as the door opens. “I just wanted to— oh. I’m sorry! I didn’t realize there was someone else here.”

“Jennifer, please, come in.”

Adrian looks at the woman, motioning to Trevor. “Jennifer, this is my friend Trevor. Trevor, Jennifer is one of the permanent curators here.”

The woman steps in and offers her hand. “Jennifer Dawson, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” She laughs. “And Adrian, you know you could be one of the permanent curators here, too, if you’d consider our offer—but that’s not why I’m here. Sorry, sorry, I don’t mean to diatribe at you. I was just coming to check in on you and make sure you weren’t working too hard or planning on staying too late.”

Adrian gives her a polite smile. “Not to worry; I doubt I’ll be working late tonight.”

“Okay, good. It’s a Saturday, you should go out and have some fun!”

“You as well, Jennifer.”

Jennifer seems to get the hint, she pauses only briefly before she smiles again. “I will. Goodnight, Adrian. Trevor, it was good meeting you.”

Trevor watches her over the back of the chair until the door closes. “A friend?” he questions.

“An acquaintance,” Adrian corrects. “We’ve gone out for drinks a few times.”

“Ah.” Trevor puts his feet up on the desk, and they’re quiet for a moment before he speaks again. “What did she mean by that?”

“Well, Trevor, usually people say things like that after they’ve been introduced to a person for the first time—”

Trevor rolls his eyes. “I meant the thing about offering you a position as a permanent curator, bastard.”

“Oh. That. Yes, they’ve invited me to keep the exhibit here permanently.”

“But you don’t want to?”

Adrian hesitates. “I…didn’t…” he says slowly.

“But you do now?” Adrian doesn’t answer, so he presses further. “What changed?”

Adrian still doesn’t answer, but he looks at Trevor and it clicks after a moment. “Oh.”

He hums. “Indeed.”

They both fall quiet, but there’s clearly something still on Trevor’s mind. Adrian waits.

“...You’d really do that for us? You barely know us.” When it looks like Adrian is about to counter that, Trevor holds his hand up. “No, wait, just listen to me. I mean it: you don’t know us, not really. Even if you’re telling the truth about everything, even if I’m— I dunno, the reincarnation of some guy you knew way back when, _I’m not him._ I’ve got a whole lot going on up here—” he points to his head “—that has nothing to do with that.”

Adrian is quiet; thoughtful. At least he’s actually listening to what Trevor has to say. “...The Trevor I met,” he says finally, “is not the same Trevor I knew five years later, or ten, or even just one. He had different memories and different experiences, but I—” he clears his throat, and he’s staring down at his hands, folded on his desk so he doesn’t have to look at Trevor. “His heart— his heart was the same, no matter what.” He finally looks up, and Trevor’s feels his gaze pierce straight through him. “That same heart beats in you.”

Trevor inhales a ragged breath. “Wow,” he says, sounding off-center and floundering. “You, uh. You must’ve really loved him.”

“Yes,” Adrian says like it’s that simple. Maybe for him it is.

Adrian, who grew up with loving parents, never wanting for affection and never afraid of saying it to the people he felt it for; whose parents always taught him to share his love freely, for there was no shame in loving. Adrian, who hated himself but loved so fervently as if it might make up for the fact. This, Trevor remembers intimately.

And Sypha. Beautiful, headstrong Sypha who would run herself ragged to help the people she cared about. Brave Sypha, who’s spent so long fighting the world when it told her she couldn’t— couldn’t help, couldn’t be good, couldn’t just be— who still strives to let herself be vulnerable.

And then there’s Trevor. Trevor, who lost his parents and lost his family and knew, down to his bones, that the people you love will always leave you, whether by their choice or not. Trevor, who learned never to bare himself to people or he’d end up hurt, who learned to keep his head down and just roll over when life decided to fuck him.

He’s struck with the desire, for the first time that he can remember in his life, to grow beyond that.

Maybe it’s time for him to start trying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously Dracula's name comes from Vlad the Impaler IRL, but I wanted to play around with what people might know about Dracula if he *were* real while still incorporating as much realism as possible. I had a lot of fun looking up that blurb (and absolutely did consider making that Twitter account for a hot second).
> 
> I'm so excited for next chapter, so I might go ahead and post it a little earlier than usual. ^.^
> 
> Thanks so much to everyone who's commented, all of your words and questions mean the world to me and I get excited when I see any of them, even if I can't always reply.


	8. Part I | Chapter 8

Sypha shows up at the same time as their Thai food.

“You ordered food without me?!” she gasps, appalled as Trevor takes the food from the delivery guy.

Trevor freezes like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “It was his idea,” he says, shoving the bags in Adrian’s arms.

“It most certainly was _not_!” Adrian snaps. He takes the food, anyway. “But don’t worry, I ordered enough food for you, too.”

“Oh, you take credit when something goes right, huh? I see how it is.” Trevor shoves Adrian in revenge. Adrian laughs as he moves ahead of both of them to open the back door with his key card.

Next to him, Sypha’s wraps her arm around Trevor’s waist. “I’m glad you came,” she tells him quietly.

“Yeah,” he says as the door closes with a heavy thud behind them. “So am I.”

“I was worried you wouldn’t. Adrian wasn’t, though. Maybe a little, but really he just had faith in you. I guess I should take a page out of his book, hm?”

“Sypha.” He sounds horrifically genuine, even to his own ears. “You have shown more faith in me than anyone ever has before. I can’t thank you enough for that. So don’t feel too bad.”

Sypha looks surprised, then embarrassed. She covers her face with her free hand and tucks herself further into Trevor’s side to hide her face. “Alright,” she mutters.

The trio goes back to Adrian’s box of an office, with its artificial overhead light and not a single window and they open all the food, passing it between the three of them. Adrian even comes around to the other side of his desk and perches there to be closer to Trevor and Sypha. Sypha crosses her legs and just sits straight on the floor, while Trevor takes the chair like a normal fucking person.

Trevor and Adrian squabble over the last potsticker, only for Sypha to swoop in and steal it out from under both of them. She pops it in her mouth while both of them gape at her, affronted. “You snooze, you lose,” she says around a mouthful of food.

The three of them end up on the ground together eventually, once all the food is gone. Hours pass before them as they sit shoulder to shoulder and they lean against Adrian’s desk, whispering quietly between themselves.

“What do you know of your family, Trevor?” Adrian asks finally.

“Wha—what do you mean? My dad was a businessman. My mother stayed at home.”

Adrian frowns slightly. “You are more than the son of a businessman and a housewife. You come from a long line of hunters,” Adrian tells him. “You…really know none of that?”

Trevor gives Adrian a skeptical look. “My family? Vampire hunters?” he snorts.

“Yes. Indiscriminate killers in the beginning, until my Trevor changed that,” Adrian confirms. “He hunted the violent and the depraved; but there are many vampires who simply wish to be left alone, and he chose to respect that. It’s why I was so surprised when you did not seem to recognize what I was. Your parents told you none of this?” Trevor and Sypha share a look on either side of Adrian that is not lost on him. “What?”

“My parents...they died when I was a kid.”

Adrian’s eyes widen. “I see,” he murmurs. “My apologies.”

Trevor shrugs. “Yeah. So maybe they were and maybe the weren’t, but it doesn’t matter now, because we’ll never know.”

“That’s not… necessarily true.”

Trevor furrows his brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“As long as the Belmont estate still stands, their secrets have not been lost.” He pauses. Then, more to himself, adds, “honestly, even if the estate were to fall, their secrets would remain.”

“I’m sorry, did he just say _estate_?” Sypha interrupts before Trevor can reply. She looks between the two men. “ _Estate_? I knew you were rich, Trevor, but an estate?” She laughs. Trevor and Adrian share an unimpressed look between them, but that doesn’t seem to deter Sypha at all. “Who even calls it an ‘estate’ these days except rich people?”

“Are you quite d—” Adrian freezes before he can finish his sentence, head turning towards the door.

“What is it—” Sypha starts.

Adrian shushes her before she can finish, holding a hand out to stop her as he floats up to his feet.

Trevor falls on his ass. “Whoa— since when can you _float_?!”

“Everyone, shut up,” Adrian orders. “I hear something.”

“Hear what?” Sypha asks as she helps Trevor up. She at least has the grace to speak in a whisper this time.

“I don’t know,” he murmurs. He’s still floating, and as Trevor watches, he extends his arm. A few seconds later, a sword flies through the air from behind his desk as if summoned and into his hand.

“Yo—you couldn’t have done that earlier to prove yourself?!”

Adrian ignores him as he opens the door. He stops floating once he’s out of his office, presumably to keep a low profile in case someone sees him, despite the late hour. His affectation of normalcy is ruined by the sword in hand.

Trevor and Sypha follow behind him.

“Are you sure it’s not just a security guard?” Sypha murmurs.

Adrian shakes his head imperceptibly. “I’m not certain what I heard, but it was more than a mere security guard.”

Trevor frowns. A robbery, perhaps?

Adrian pauses at the door at the end of the hall, letting go of his sword so it hangs in the air as he uses his key card to open the door into the museum proper.

It’s dark out here; the only light comes in through the high windows and the glass door, enough for Trevor to see everything in silhouettes, but little else.

Adrian spots something before the other two. He lets out a quiet gasp, floating back into the air and flying to the left and around the sculpture that stands in the center of the atrium.

“Adrian!” Sypha hisses as quiet as she can. She quickly follows him; groaning, Trevor follows suit.

He’s behind Sypha now, which means she sees whatever Adrian did before him. He hears her soft gasp of “oh no,” as she hurries her pace.

“What is it?” Trevor hisses—before he sees, too.

Adrian has pulled the body of a man into his arms.

“Is he…” Trevor begins. He doesn’t see any blood, but that doesn’t always mean anything.

“Just unconscious,” Adrian says, pressing his fingers to the man’s wrist. He brings his ear to the man’s mouth, checking for the rhythm of his breathing, then moves to check his pupil dilation. “Peter, can you hear me?”

“Do you think it was a heart attack?” Sypha asks.

The distant sound of voices reach all three of them. Adrian freezes in his check-up, staring past him and down the hall the voices came from. Carefully, he lays the man back on the ground and summons his sword to his hand. “That would be a no.”

They move as one in the direction of the voices, the European exhibit Trevor had passed through earlier that day; except, no, that’s not quite right, he realizes the further in they go.

The voices are coming from _Adrian’s_ exhibit.

Trevor can see the moment that Adrian has the same realization; he freezes for a split-second before he surges forward, snarling. He reaches the room first, but Trevor and Sypha aren’t far behind, and Trevor slams into Adrian’s back before he can stop himself when Adrian stops abruptly in the doorway. The man doesn’t even stumble, not even when Sypha runs into them, too.

“Get out,” Adrian snarls in the doorway.

There’s three people in the room: two of them are dressed in tactical gear, faces and bodies hidden, and turned away from them as they stand in front of one of the displays. The third figure is a tall woman with long black hair pulled back into a tight ponytail; she’s dressed in a suit, seemingly unworried about the threat of being identified, and she’s staring right at them.

There's something familiar about her presence that Trevor can't quite place, but he doesn’t get any more than that before she rushes forward with supernatural speed. She has a sword in hand that she raises high, and Trevor knows, down to his bones, that’s she’s no ordinary thief.

She’s a vampire.

The woman swings her blade up, but Adrian counters before she can strike, and the sound of metal clashing rings out; Sypha takes the opportunity to duck under them both and sprint for the other two people in the room while the vampire woman is distracted.

“Sypha!”

The figure on the right peels off now, too, grabbing for some weapon that’s strapped to his back and Trevor acts on instinct, dropping low and throwing himself headfirst into the man. He catches him around the middle before the man can get a hold of Sypha, football tackling him to the ground and wrestling his weapon to the floor.

Trevor grapples at the man’s arms, grunting, and he’s—almost—got him—

The guy throws his whole weight forward, headbutting Trevor. Trevor grunts, his grip slipping on the guy just enough for him to grab Trevor forcibly and flip them over.

The first punch slams his head against the linoleum with a horrific _thud_.

_“Trevor!”_

That’s Sypha, and he turns his head to the side and can only watch as Sypha turns her back on the third figure to run to him as they turn around.

“Sypha, watch ou—” he tries to yell, but it’s too late. Sypha screams in pain and before he knows what’s happening the room flashes with light and a deafening whip-crack. He sees the eyes and the half-covered face of the man above him in sharp contrast as he lands another blow to his cheek then again on the other side. Another fist lands and he feels his nose give way with a sickening _crunch_.

The room goes dark, then rippling light again. His vision blurs in and out of focus as he takes a blow to the chin that knocks his head backwards.

Around the ringing in his ears, Sypha keeps screaming in pain as she hits the ground, spasming.

“Sypha— _argh!”_

Adrian, Trevor thinks; there’s a dull thud, the sound of a body hitting the floor and choked breath.

“I have it!” a voice says distantly. “Let’s go.”

The figure on top of him climbs off and Trevor thinks _is that the best you can do?_ Except he must say it, because the next thing he knows the man’s whirled around to face him and nails him in the balls with all his strength.

Trevor lets out a mangled curse and curls in on himself, heaving.

He hears footsteps, and turns his head just enough to see the three figures at the door. It’s the shortest one in the middle his eyes are drawn to. Lightning arcs off their body in spurts, and they’re carrying something, some sort of box in their arms that looks familiar to him, but he can’t quite place it around the ringing in his ears...

A sharp motion draws his attention to the right. He watches the vampire as she pulls her sword up out of where it must have gotten lodged in the floor, except. Except Adrian _screams_ and Trevor realizes it wasn’t just lodged in the floor beside him but impaled clean through. He must have been forced to his knees by the sword, pinning him to the ground, and his head drops to his chest and his whole body slumps as the sword is removed. Trevor lets out a shaking breath as the woman wipes the sword on Adrian’s shirt before she sheathes it.

“Stay out of our way,” she says flatly. And then they’re gone.

Trevor climbs to his feet through sheer force of will. He looks between Sypha and Adrian, trying to judge the worst of their injuries as his priorities shift.

Adrian makes the decision for him, attempting to stand only for his legs to buckle beneath him. Trevor stumbles to his side.

“Adrian,” he grunts.

Adrian shakes his head. “I’m fine,” he says. “Just get me to Sypha.”

Trevor can do that. He wraps Adrian’s left arm around his neck and catches him around the waist, helping him hobble over to where Sypha’s collapsed on the ground. His stomach drops, but Sypha stirs before true panic can set in, and Trevor and Adrian both collapse to the floor beside her.

“Sypha,” Adrian murmurs. He leans over her, rolling the woman over to lay her on her back. “Darling, you have to wake up.”

Trevor can’t tear his eyes from her face; he’s never known true fear until this moment, he thinks, staring down at Sypha and praying to any god who will listen to just _let her be okay._

It takes a second, but her expression pinches with effort and Trevor feels fear’s vice on his heart lessen, just a fraction. “…Adrian? Trevor?”

Adrian lets out a shaky breath and Trevor realizes that he’s crying. And then, a moment later, he realizes: so is he.

“Yes, we’re here, sweetheart. Can you sit up?” It takes her several tries, but she finally gets her arms under herself and pushes up, still looking at Trevor and Adrian.

“What happened?”

“We ate shit,” Trevor says plainly.

“Indeed,” Adrian murmurs. “Are you alright?”

Trevor just grunts. They’re all quiet for a moment before Adrian shifts slightly to look behind himself, and an involuntary groan escapes him from the pain. “Look,” he says. Trevor follows his line of sight, directly to what’s left of the display on Dracula. It takes Trevor a second to place what’s drawn Adrian’s attention, the whole display a mess from the fight, but he realizes what’s missing right as Adrian confirms it.

“They stole my father’s ashes. For what purpose I do not know, but I doubt it’s anything good. And now they have the upper hand.”

Sypha reaches out for Adrian’s hand, trembling. “We’ll get it back, Adrian,” Sypha tells him, doing her best to comfort. It’s weakened by the fact she can barely move. It’s all they can do to sit there huddled in the dark.

Adrian’s gaze lingers on the display, lost in thought before he finally pulls his gaze away and shakes his head. “...Perhaps,” he agrees eventually. “But we have more pressing matters to be dealt with, first.” He groans again, clearly struggling to speak around the goddamn fucking hole in his stomach as he forces himself to stand.

Trevor jumps to his feet, too, despite the pain; scared Adrian might collapse at any moment. “Are you sure you’re fine?” Trevor asks again. He sounds nasally, and he’s pretty sure his nose is broken.

Adrian reaches out and presses cool fingers against Trevor’s bruised chin and forces him to tilt his head up slightly to help. “It won’t kill me, if that’s what you’re worried about. It was just a regular sword. Right now we need to clean up the blood in here and then we need to get to the security room and make sure the video footage of tonight is erased.”

“But won’t that be their best lead of the robbers?” Sypha asks. Thank god she’s starting to sound normal again as she leans against one of the podiums and takes deep breaths.

Adrian shakes his head. “We need to keep civilians as far away from this as possible. Even policemen. That was a vampire and a magician, and the police would not stand a chance against the likes of them.”

“You really have been telling the truth the whole time,” Sypha murmurs. “I mean, I believed you, it’s just—it’s one thing to believe someone when they tell you something, but it’s something else to…”

“To see it for yourself,” Trevor finishes.

“Yes.”

The three of them go silent, all lost in their own minds, but they don’t have the luxury of time right now. Adrian starts stripping his shirt off after only a few seconds.

“Whoa,” Trevor says as Adrian bites his lip to hold back a moan as he jostles his stomach too much. “What are you doing?”

“We need to make sure we’re not implicated,” Adrian says, holding his shirt out. “Can you use this to clean the blood up?”

And Trevor—his face throbs and his dick aches, but other than that he seems to have taken the least amount of damage of the three of him, so it only makes sense that Adrian would task it to him.

But knowing he couldn’t do anything to protect them? That burns more than any injury could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trevor really never gets a break, does he? Sorry if you thought the trio would have a nice, soft evening together.


	9. Part I | Chapter 9

Trevor works as quickly as he can to clean up the blood. He takes Adrian’s nice white shirt, now torn clean through and blossoming with red, and uses it to wipe up the blood on the ground like Adrian asked. When that’s not enough, he pulls his own shirt over his head and starts to use that, too.

They’re shit for towels, but they get the job done eventually. It’s not perfect, but he hopes it blends with the floor enough that they won’t notice.

“Couldn’t they still see this with one of those lights?” Sypha says. Adrian’s pulled her into his arms and is holding her against one of the display cases as Trevor works.

“They could use Luminol, yes,” Adrian confirms. “But I see no reason why they would think to in a victim-less crime such as this. There’s no reason for them to think there would be blood to detect.”

“Okay,” Trevor grunts, interrupting them. He stands, stretching his back, and inspects the room. “There’s no helping the fucking burn marks left by the _fucking_ lightning, but I think this is as good as we’re going to get.”

Adrian examines the ground with sharp eyes and sniffs quietly before he nods once. “I agree. Now, if you could help me to the security office…”

It takes them a while to figure it out, but eventually Trevor gets Adrian and Sypha under each arm and together the three of them hobble back the way they came. He takes as much of their weight as he can.

Together, they steal the security guard’s key card and make their way to the security office. Sypha loses her jacket in the process, sacrificing it so they can keep their fingerprints off anything incriminating.

“This feels wrong,” she says as Adrian sinks into one of the chairs. Adrian furrows his brow, and Sypha continues. “I feel like _we’re_ the criminals here— why are you making that face?”

Adrian is still frowning. He cycles through footage of the other exhibits, then circles back to the mess in the History of Horror exhibit. On the grainy camera Trevor can barely see the scorch marks that hit the displays; just the knocked over pedestals and broken glass from their fight, and the empty pedestal where Dracula’s ashes should be.

“It’s not recording,” he says to himself.

Trevor narrows his eyes. “What? What do you mean it’s not recording?”

Adrian twists around in the chair to look at him. “I mean exactly that. This footage is live. The cameras are on but they’re not recording. Whoever those people were they must have disabled the cameras beforehand. How they did it without arousing suspicion I don’t know, since it’s supposed to send up a warning periodically if it’s not recording…”

“Great; then our problem is solved. Let’s go before that guard wakes up.”

Adrian looks like he wants to push the matter, but he just closes his mouth and nods, turning back around in his chair. “Just one more thing,” he says.

Trevor groans. “Oh, come _on_!” Adrian ignores him, pulling something up on the screen closest to him.

“What are you doing?” Sypha asks curiously.

“Erasing my key card usage from earlier. It records badge usage.”

Trevor actually rolls his eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re some sort of hacker, too.”

Adrian turns to give him an unimpressed look. Without looking behind himself, he presses the security guard’s key card to the scanner. “No, I’m just using administrative privileges. Keep up, Belmont.” Trevor scoffs. The computer makes a quiet ping and Adrian turns back around. “Alright, I’m done. Let’s go.” He pushes himself out of the chair, stumbling when his arms can’t quite bear his weight. Trevor catches him quickly around the waist.

“Sorry,” Adrian murmurs, leaning into Trevor’s chest. “I guess I’m still weak.”

“Yeah, I’ll say,” Trevor grunts. He shifts Adrian to one side, and Sypha to the other, grateful that they’ve recovered a bit more strength so they can take a bit more of their own weight. “C’mon, you two,” he says. He sounds gentle—foreign to him. “Let’s get you out of here.”

They keep the security guard’s key card, using it to slip out the back unnoticed.

“Are you sure he’ll be alright?” Sypha asks after a few minutes as they hobble together back down the street towards Trevor’s apartment.

Sirens sound before they can answer, heading toward the museum but still far enough away that the three of them can just stop for a second and turn back to look. “I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Adrian grunts as he turns back around.

It takes them a full hour to get to Trevor’s apartment, slow going and unable to call for a ride when they look as bad as they do, but finally they make it.

He sees the way Adrian and Sypha both look around curiously when he lets them in, but neither of them say anything when there’s more important issues at hand. Adrian asks Sypha into the bathroom, gently pushing her down on the toilet as Trevor lingers in the doorway.

“Can you take your shirt off for me?”

Sypha nods, though she has some trouble raising her arms above her head and gets stuck halfway through; Adrian helps her wordlessly as Trevor turns his face away, cheeks flushed.

“Has a woman never taken her shirt off for you before, Trevor?” Sypha teases. She sits up straighter as Adrian sets her shirt on the vanity and traces cool fingers along the Lichtenberg figures now drawn in her skin, the physical manifestation of her earlier brush with the magician’s lightning.

“How do you feel?” Adrian murmurs as Trevor makes the executive decision to go find new clothes for the three of them to wear.

“Sore,” Sypha answers honestly. “And my head is killing me. But I don’t think it’s life-threatening. I’m more worried about _you_.”

Trevor can’t hear Adrian’s reply as he moves into his bedroom, their voices fading. There’s absolutely no helping Sypha—anything of his that she wears is going to drown her, but with a bit of digging he finds an old henley for Adrian to wear that’s tight on him, and the smallest t-shirt he owns for Sypha. He deliberates a moment more before he grabs a pair of sweatpants for Adrian too, just in case.

“—he’s skittish,” Sypha is saying quietly as he comes back. Trevor stills, lingering where he is. “Scared of letting other people in, I think.”

Adrian takes a moment to respond. “He always has been,” he says finally, voice gentle.

They go quiet again, and Trevor thinks that might be the end of it until Sypha continues on.

“Adrian. Before—when you knew us the first time. Were we together?”

Trevor holds his breath.

“Who?”

“Any of us. All of us. I don’t know.”

“...You and Trevor were married,” Adrian says eventually.

“But that’s it?”

“That’s it.”

Sypha makes a thoughtful sound and then they both go quiet, and Trevor takes that as his opportunity to announce his presence. He steps on the squeaky floorboard just outside of the bathroom intentionally, and clears his throat. “I found some clothes for you two to wear.”

Sypha has her arms wrapped around herself and he can see the gooseflesh on her arms as she holds her hands out. _“Please.”_

Trevor passes the shirt over as Adrian stands up and turns to face him. Trevor throws the henley in his face. “Catch,” he deadpans after it’s already hit Adrian in the face.

“Was that really necessary?” Trevor shrugs, and Adrian just sighs. “Sit down,” he orders.

Trevor and Sypha trade places with only minimal grumbling from Trevor. He watches Sypha as she pulls his shirt on over her head, turning his head away with a sharp jerk the second she starts pulling down her pants.

“You’re cute,” she says with a small laugh. “Do you have any spare blankets?”

“Just what’s on my bed— whoa, oh my god.” Adrian has settled himself directly in between Trevor’s legs. He lifts Trevor’s chin up and begins to press against his cheekbones. Trevor swallows, but any part of him that’s interested is quickly beat back by Adrian’s probing fingers. “Ow! Ow, what the hell are you doing?”

Adrian steps back and bends over so he can get a closer look at Trevor’s face. “I’m going to set your nose.”

“What?! No.”

“Yes,” Adrian counters immediately, no-nonsense. “Where’s your first-aid kit?”

“I’m not telling,” Trevor says, crossing his arms.

Adrian raises an eyebrow, rolls his eyes, and starts looking under the sink on his own when it’s clear Trevor won’t help. “You’re acting like a child.”

“I don’t need you to set my nose, it’ll fucking hurt.”

“Trevor, I know what I’m doing. My mother was a doctor.”

That…actually gives Trevor pause as Adrian sets the first-aid kit on the counter and opens it. “Was she really?” Trevor asks curiously.

“Yes. Sypha, can you bring me a glass of water?”

Sypha passes the open door literally buried in blankets from Trevor’s bed. “One second!” she calls, voice muffled.

They both watch her silently.

“Anyway,” Adrian says finally, turning back to Trevor. “Yes, she was a doctor. I’m hardly an expert but I learned a few things from her.”

“And one of them was how to set a broken nose?”

Adrian actually—Trevor does a double take because Adrian goes a little pink. “Indeed. I’m going to count to three.”

“What’s the story on that?”

Adrian settles two fingers on either side of Trevor’s nose and counts slow and methodical, just like everything else he does. “One...two…three.”

“Fuck!” Trevor flinches slightly but Adrian is relentless. He keeps his fingers there, putting pressure on either side of his nose to straighten it out.

“I fell out of a tree as a child. I hit the ground face-first.”

Trevor wrinkles his nose around Adrian’s fingers. It aches, but the stabbing pain is gone with is a good sign in his book. “But you can—” he wiggles his fingers.

Adrian gives Trevor a look. “Fly?” he says. “It was before I had a decent grasp on my abilities. Granted, my mother also had better tools at her disposal than I just did.”

“How are you feeling?” Sypha asks as she comes in. She sets a glass of water beside Adrian and hands a bag of ice to Trevor. He takes it gratefully and holds it to one eye, hissing quietly between clenched teeth.

“Fucked up,” Trevor says. Sypha watches as Adrian begins to dig through Trevor’s medicine cabinet to pull out bottle of Tylenol. He pours two into his palm and holds them out to Trevor, who mutters his thanks and pops the pills. “You?”

She takes the now half-empty glass from him in answer and holds her hand out for the Tylenol, too. “I’m fucked up, too,” she says. She smiles around the glass of water, finishing it and setting the glass back on the counter.

“I made a bed out on the couch for us,” she tells them.

“Let me finish cleaning you up,” Adrian says when Trevor tries to stand, gently pushing him back down with one hand. This time, Trevor acquiesces without fight. Adrian runs a hand cloth under the faucet, letting it warm before he returns to Trevor and kneels between his knees again, dabbing at the bruising around Trevor’s eyes. “Does this hurt?” he murmurs softly.

Carefully, Trevor lowers the ice and shakes his head. “It’s fine,” he says. “Thanks.”

It’s like the whole night hits him then, and Trevor thinks it’s a good thing he’s sitting down or his legs might give out underneath him. The way Adrian says “you’re welcome,” and holds his face firm but gentle in one hand and cleans him with the other; and the way Sypha watches silently as she sits on the rim of the bathtub— it’s almost too much for him to handle.

“We have to talk about what happened,” he says, voice a little breathless.

“In the morning,” Adrian promises. “You’re both exhausted. We all are.”

“In the morning,” he agrees.

Finally, Adrian lets him up. Trevor goes back to his room to change into something to sleep in while Adrian does the same. His bed’s been completely stripped, he notes distantly. Sypha really did a number on it.

When he finally wanders back out, it’s to find that Sypha’s made a veritable nest of blankets on his couch, and settled herself perfectly in the middle. She pats the couch beside her, and after only a moment’s hesitation Trevor goes.

It takes them a few minutes to get comfortable, and then again when Adrian comes and they have to reposition themselves with the addition, but eventually they find themselves settled.

They fall asleep like that, Sypha’s legs pulled up to her chest and tucked into Trevor’s side. Adrian slumps against Sypha and his face is in her hair and Trevor cards his fingers through Adrian’s hair, gently un-knotting and brushing Sypha’s hair out of her face, too. And that’s the last thing Trevor sees, the two of them slumped against him as his eyes grow heavy and his fingers slowly still.

* * *

_Trevor dreams of an old wagon._

_On sunny days, the sunlight would filter in through the top and shine down on them like a heavenly blessing. On rainy days, they rushed to secure a tarp over the top to keep everything inside dry. They would trade places driving the thing, one person sitting passenger and someone else relegated to the back. It would be a luxury, if the wagon weren’t so rickety as to make it almost worse than sitting up front._

_And they travel all of Wallachia. First to find Sypha’s tribe and tell their story, and then after to protect the Wallachians: from the Church, from what’s left of Dracula’s armies— whatever the people need._

_And at night when they stop and make camp; after they’ve eaten and made a fire to keep warm, the three of them curl together as one unit, sharing blankets and body heat, and it doesn’t matter how hard and uncomfortable the ground is, because those are the nights Trevor sleeps best._

_They’re some of Trevor’s happiest memories._

_He lets himself enjoy the contentment, for perhaps the first time in his life. And he lets himself heal, like Sypha always knew he could._

_And some days, he lets himself fantasize about the future: about rebuilding the old Belmont estate, bringing honor to the name in the eyes of the people once more. And always, Sypha and Alucard are by his side._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My fanfic playlist can be found [here](https://open.spotify.com/user/12122757801/playlist/6svOyCt17bQHzc3I0fKAbz?si=e3kKl6aiQ2qBGoCPvlRs7A). Beware, there might be spoilers in the song choices...
> 
> Thanks again to everyone who's commented and kudos'd, it means the world to me even when I don't have time to reply.


	10. Part I | Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year! Whether you're going out or staying in, if you're drinking make sure to drink responsibly. And if you're going to be on the road, make sure to be hyper-vigilant.
> 
> Fair warning, there is a bit of a sexually suggestive scene below, but nothing sexual occurs.

Trevor wakes up with hair in his mouth.

He quickly bats it away which in turn wakes Sypha up; she swats Trevor away and sits up with a groan, and all in all it’s a less than ideal way to wake up in the morning.

Sypha yawns. “Do you have a spare toothbrush?”

Trevor gives her a look. “Do I look like the kind of person with a spare toothbrush.”

She makes a noise of disgust as she gets up, standing up on the couch and jumping off and kicking Trevor in the process.

“Hey! Watch it.”

She ignores him and disappears into the bathroom as Trevor rolls his neck and wakes himself up enough to venture into the kitchen to make coffee. Sypha wanders back in while he’s putting the coffee pot on, her finger in her mouth as she uses it to brush her teeth with Trevor’s toothpaste.

“Where’s Adrian?” she asks with her mouth full.

“I’ll wake him up when this is done.”

Sypha shrugs, disappearing back into the bathroom. He listens as she rinses her mouth and then goes into his cabinets, seemingly finding his mouthwash and using that, too, before she goes back to the living room.

“Adrian,” she croons.

Trevor wanders back into the living while he leaves the coffeepot to fill.

“Adrian?” Sypha’s voice sounds a little more insistent now, and Trevor doesn’t like that.

“What’s wrong?”

Sypha glances at him over her shoulder as he approaches, then back down to Adrian. She shakes him a little, but the man barely stirs. “Is this normal?” she asks. “I don’t know what’s normal for a vampire.”

“Hey.” Trevor puts his hand on her shoulder and squeezes there. “I’m sure it’s alright.” He crouches beside her, watching Adrian’s face as he shakes him a little harder—the way his eyelashes flutter against his cheek but little else. “Hey,” he says to Adrian this time, a little more forcefully. “Wake up, arsehole.”

That at least gets a reaction out of him; Adrian stirs and finally groans and opens one eye. “What’re you doing?” he says; his words slur together uncharacteristically in sleep.

Trevor finds himself combing Adrian’s hair out of his face. “Are you okay?” he asks.

Adrian grunts; he finally sits up, but it’s sluggish still. “You try getting impaled and then tell me how you feel after.” He lifts his shirt to look at the expanse of his stomach. There’s an angry red laceration, the skin around it pink and inflamed. Still, it looks days old, not hours. “I’ll be fine. My body is diverting all its energy to repairing the wound. It’s harder when I haven’t had blood recently.”

“You need blood?”

“I will survive without,” Adrian says with some effort. “I just need some time.”

“What if I gave you some of mine?” Trevor says before he can think better of it.

Adrian shakes himself out of a stupor, his eyes widening as he realizes what Trevor is offering. “Are you— sure?”

“Will taking my blood help you recover quicker?”

Hesitantly, Adrian nods.

Trevor rolls his eyes. “Then yes, I’m sure. You need to tell us when you’re hurting, bastard. We can’t read your mind, y’know.”

“We trust you to tell us the truth,” Sypha adds. Her voice his gentler than Trevor’s but the rebuke is still there as she crouches next to Trevor and curls her fingers through Adrian’s hair. “If you say you’re fine, we’re going to believe you even when it’s not true.”

Adrian has to close his eyes and take a steadying breath. “You’ve certainly changed your tune rather quickly,” he says in the quiet with a nod in Trevor’s direction.

Trevor doesn’t have a good answer. “I guess getting the shit beat out of you really brings people together.”

Adrian exhales a weak laugh. “Regardless, I apologize for worrying the two of you.”

Trevor moves his hands to rest on Adrian’s thighs, squeezing once and giving Adrian a smile to show him all is forgiven. “Where do you want me?” he teases.

He’s not teasing for long though, when Adrian grips his shoulders and pulls him up onto the couch with him, twisting them around so Adrian is on top and can straddle Trevor and press him into the cushions.

Sypha makes a strangled noise in the back of her throat, but Trevor’s too distracted by Adrian’s— everything. His eyes are wide as he looks up at Adrian, leaning down into Trevor’s neck. One hand comes up to curl loosely in Adrian’s golden hair as the man nuzzles his neck.

Trevor’s breathing is labored. His eyes close and his head falls back against the rim of the couch and hears Sypha shifting, distantly, but it all feels so far away when all he can focus on is Adrian’s lips ghosting along his neck.

“Adrian,” he gasps out, opening his eyes again.

“Hm?” Adrian hums against his skin and Trevor fucking trembles all over. God, he’s _teasing_ him.

“Just do it,” he challenges— and Adrian doesn’t even give him a second before he curls his fingers in Trevor’s hair and _yanks_ , pulling Trevor’s head back and baring his throat before Adrian. Sypha makes a noise, but Trevor can barely hear it over the moan that’s pulled from him.

And then Adrian is sinking his fangs into Trevor.

Sharp pain gives way to dull throbbing gives way to some strange heady mix of pleasure and pain. He can hear his heart pound in his ears as his blood pulses in his veins and Trevor closes his eyes again as his whole body slackens into the couch for Adrian to ravish.

Adrian’s grip on his hair eases as he begins to scratch at Trevor’s scalp with his nails and it’s— oh god, Trevor thinks he might die, here and now, when Adrian takes a particularly long draw from his neck and Trevor arches his back, closer, _closer_ —

His fangs release him, and Trevor feels Adrian lap at the two small incisions gently before he moves away. Trevor chases him with his fingers and hears Adrian chuckle.

“Is he alright?” Sypha asks distantly.

“He’ll be fine,” he assures her. “Trevor always used to be… sensitive to that. I have to admit I’m glad that hasn’t changed.”

“Ngh… stop talking ‘bout me.”

He feels a hand on his forehead, and when he stirs and opens his eyes Sypha is leaning over him, gently combing his hair back. “How are you feeling?” she asks.

“Ugh. Tired. Let me sleep.”

Sypha laughs and shakes her head. “I don’t think so. You need to eat something or you’ll feel sick.”

Trevor groans a little.

“Sypha’s right,” Adrian says. He already sounds more lively now, and when Trevor manages to open his eyes he sees a rosiness to Adrian’s cheeks, no longer so washed out. “I’ll go make you two something to eat.”

“Come on,” Sypha urges. She pulls her hand away from him and Trevor makes a displeased sound in the back of his throat, but Sypha just ‘tsks’ and pokes his stomach. “Up, you layabout.”

Adrian walks back into the living room looking troubled. “Is something wrong?” Sypha asks.

Adrian pauses. “...Trevor, do you eat at all?”

* * *

Once Adrian and Sypha are finished ribbing him for the sad state of his kitchen (“Trevor, you have nothing in your fridge but moldy leftovers!” Sypha says when she follows Adrian’s lead and goes to take stock of his fridge), they decide that clearly food is still in order.

Sypha and Adrian are still wearing his shirts when they head to the restaurant, since Sypha’s is singed beyond repair on the back and Adrian’s is bloody and torn. The restaurant is a small mom and pop joint with breakfast that’s nearby and a big hangout for hungover college students on Sunday mornings.

It’s loud when they get there, everyone so caught up in their own lives that it’s easier to put their heads together and discuss the night before after they’ve ordered.

“So you really don’t know anything about who those people were?” Trevor asks.

Adrian shakes his head. “No. Although…”

“Although?”

Adrian hums thoughtfully to himself. “That woman— the vampire. Something about her was familiar to me, though I can’t quite place it…”

“Well that’s…” Trevor makes a face. “Something, I guess.”

“Were the other two vampires?” Sypha asks.

Adrian shakes his head. “No, I don’t believe so. That woman seemed to be the only one. If I had to wager a guess, though, I would say that the one that attacked you is the ringleader. And a magician if that lightning is anything to go by.”

“So a magician, a vampire, and whatever the other guy is,” Sypha says thoughtfully. She rubs her chin.

“Good at throwing a punch,” Trevor mutters under his breath. “That’s what he is.”

“That doesn’t answer what they wanted with the ashes, though.” Sypha shakes her head a little. “Adrian, you know more than Trevor and I. What do you think?”

“I don’t know,” Adrian says slowly. “But surely nothing good.”

“You haven’t, I don’t know, gotten any threats against the exhibit, have you?”

He shakes his head. “None at all.”

“So we’re completely shit out of luck, then. Ugh.” Sypha’s head thumps against the table. Trevor pats her shoulder consolingly.

“I wouldn’t say _completely_ ,” Adrian says.

Sypha perks her head up a little. “What does that mean?”

“Two things,” he says slowly. “And they’re not much, but they’re something. First and foremost… there’s something that’s been bothering me about the robbery last night. Why didn’t the alarms go off? How were the camera recordings shut off? And, the point of most interest to me: why was Peter— the security guard— not killed?”

Trevor frowns. “Isn’t that a good thing?”

“Of course,” Adrian says dismissively. “But why? Especially with a vampire in their midst, it would have been safer to just kill him, would it not? What if he’d woken up earlier than planned and alerted the police? Unless they wanted him alive for some reason.”

“You… think it was an inside job?” Sypha asks carefully.

Adrian nods. “Clever as always, Sypha. Yes, I have a suspicion that either one of the other two people there last night work for the museum, or they hired someone at the museum for their purposes.

“And to my second point: I suspect that the vampire responsible for the uptick in disappearances and the vampire we saw last night are one and the same.”

“Great!” Sypha says excitedly. She sits up completely so she can rub her hands together. “I mean, not great, obviously, but this is a lead we can follow!”

Adrian nods carefully. “Keep in mind, of course, that neither of these theories are confirmed, yet and may not pan out; however, this brings me to my next point. If both of you are going to remain involved in this, you need to be able to fight.”

That knocks the wind right out of Sypha’s sails. “...Oh. Well...how did I fight before?”

Adrian smiles. It’s small, but it tells Trevor so much. “You were the most powerful magician I’ve ever known.”

“Magician? You mean like what that person could do?”

“A bit; you used Speaker magic, though, and wielded fire and ice with strength and power like I have never seen since.”

Sypha hums in thought, but Trevor can see the way she tries to hide a proud smile. “But the secrets of Speaker magic have been lost for over two hundred years. How can I learn them now?”

Trevor watches the mischievous smile as it spreads across Adrian’s features. “I may have access to a few books on Speaker magic.”

Sypha’s eyes widen. _“Books?”_ she repeats. “Someone wrote down our ancient secrets?”

“You did.”

“No!” Sypha gasps, looking scandalized, and Trevor has to laugh. She slaps his shoulder. “Don’t laugh, this is serious. I did that? What on earth would have possessed me to do something like that?!”

Adrian glances in Trevor’s direction then back to Sypha. “The Belmont Atheneum. The Belmonts have long written down every creature they encountered for posterity. You— _she_ was...appalled, I suppose, at all the Speaker information that could have been saved if it had only been written down and preserved.”

“That’s not—” Sypha starts. She stops herself, clenching her fists. “It defies centuries of tradition. When we write our stories down we risk the loss of their power and open our secrets to God and the rooted folk.”

“But… isn’t that what you’re kind of doing out here?” Trevor points out. Sypha throws him a dirty look like she expected him to be on her side and he puts his hands up in surrender. “You’re defying centuries of tradition by studying at a university and travelling so far from your people on your own. I’m not trying to say you’re wrong, I’m just saying that maybe you shouldn’t completely dismiss it just yet.”

“Besides,” Adrian adds. “This will return lost knowledge to your people. That never could have happened if you hadn’t written it down all those years ago.”

 _“She,”_ Sypha says pointedly. “ _She_ wrote it down all those years ago.”

Adrian inclines his head in acquiescence. “She,” he agrees. “But my point remains: you do not follow tradition, Sypha. You never have. You challenge it. You make it better.”

Sypha presses her lips together, but she looks like she’s at least considering what he’s said.

“...If I did agree to it,” she says finally. “You said you have access to the books?”

Adrian nods. “I have two in my hotel room. The rest are locked away in the Belmont estate, or so I would presume.”

“You know,” Trevor says just to be contrary. “You keep mentioning some extensive collection of books at my old family home, but I’ve need seen even an inkling of what you’re talking about.”

Adrian just smiles secretively. “Maybe I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

* * *

The trio finish eating and stay there talking for several hours before Adrian’s finally reminds them that he has to go to the museum to confirm the disappearance of the exhibit’s main artifact. “I’m sure they’ve been trying to reach me all this time. It will likely look suspicious that I’ve been gone for so long, but there’s little I can do about that, now.”

“But you will have us as alibis!” Sypha says, frowning.

“The two of you, who will tell them we were alone at Trevor’s apartment where it cannot be corroborated by anyone else. If they decide to investigate me, it may well turn suspicion on the two of you, as well.”

Trevor frowns and looks like he’s thinking.

“It’s alright,” Adrian assures them. “It will not be the first time the police have tried to look closely into me and it will not be the last. It’s only a shame that paying them to look the other way would simply confirm my guilt in their eyes.”

“I have an idea,” Trevor says.

Adrian looks surprised, then inclines his head. “I’m listening.”

“The Alley Cat— remember that name. Tell them we were there, all three of us, until closing, and then we went back to my place.”

Adrian raises an eyebrow. “And when they go to corroborate this story?”

“They’ll tell them exactly that.”

“You’re underage, are you not?”

“I have a fake ID, it’s fine. They’re not going to send me to jail for that, but if we give them an alibi that’s already morally grey, they’re going to be more likely to buy it.”

“...You must have some good friends at this bar.”

Trevor gives a small laugh like he hadn’t even considered them such until Adrian said it aloud. “I guess you could say that. Now go.”

Adrian nods. He touches both of them before he heads outside.

Trevor and Sypha share a long, searching look when he’s gone. “How are you… doing with all of this?” Sypha asks.

Trevor really does laugh at that. “Does it sound strange if I say I’m doing fine. More than fine, even.”

“No,” Sypha murmurs, shifting to lean against him. “I don’t think that sounds strange at all. I think you feel the most like yourself when you’re helping people and working towards something like this.”

“Hm.” Trevor looks away from Sypha, but it’s a mistake when he locks eyes with one of the other students from his Philosophy class—Hannah, he thinks. The girl turns her head quickly away, but Trevor knows they’ve been seen.

Reality hits him like a freight train and Trevor nudges Sypha. “Sit up,” he mutters under his breath.

“What?” He nods in the girl’s direction and Sypha follows his line of sight until her eyes widen. “Oh no.”

“It’s okay,” he says. “We’re not doing anything wrong.” But Sypha is already shaking her head.

“We have to leave.”

Trevor wants to argue, but he knows a losing battle when he sees one. He leaves an extra tip for the time they lingered after paying the bill and follows Sypha’s direction without question. They come to a stop outside the restaurant, and Sypha lingers there for a moment like she wants to give him a hug but is trying to re-grasp at where their boundaries are supposed to be. It’s strange, but perhaps it shouldn’t be: in the past day, it’s like Trevor has forgotten all about the real world, so caught up in this fantasy life of Adrian’s. With Adrian gone, it’s easier to push aside the events of the night before,and in the clear light of day the reality check is exactly what he needs.

He’s not some fantastic vampire hunter who’s free to go traipsing around all through the night. Right now he’s just a college student with homework due tomorrow and a crush on his Intro to Philosophy teacher.

“I should get home,” Sypha says, keeping safe distance. “I need to work on some things before class tomorrow. And you had better go see Mitch.”

Trevor nods. “Right. Yeah,” he agrees.

They both stare for a second longer before Sypha turns away. Trevor tries to tell himself this is for the best as they both walk away.

 


	11. Part I | Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been a bit longer than usual guys, I hope the 4.5k chapter will make up for it.
> 
> Seriously though, thank you everyone who's commented and given kudos! You always brighten my day.

The Alley Cat doesn’t open until six, so Trevor doubts Mitch will be there any earlier than four. He heads home and showers and tries to make his face look a little more presentable. It doesn’t really work, but he shaves and that does… something, at least.

To try and fill his time, he tries to work on homework, but he gives up fairly quickly once it’s clear he won’t be able to focus. He paces his apartment with restless energy until he decides he’ll go to the grocery store, because that’ll show Sypha and Adrian.

The entire time, his mind circles the three thieves from the night before. Adrian had said that the vampire woman seemed familiar but the other two were unknowns; Trevor feels his thoughts drawn to her. At first he’d put it down to recognizing her presence from that night outside The Alley Cat, with Sypha. He was sure now, that had been her playing with them like prey—but her presence was familiar in a way that went beyond that, though he couldn’t quite seem to pin down why.

He dwells on it until it’s even marginally acceptable to head to The Alley Cat, but by the time he’s dropped off and heading around back, he’s still no closer to an answer. He lets it drop as he pounds on the back door.

Cal is the one to answer the door when he knocks.

“Trevor? Jesus, dude, what the hell happened to your face?!”

Trevor scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. “That’s sort of why I’m here. Is Mitch around?”

Cal holds the door open for him. “...Yeah. She’s in her office.”

Trevor claps him on the shoulder and mutters a quick thanks as he moves past him and heads for Mitch’s office. He knocks twice and waits for her to call out a quick “come in!” before he opens the door.

“Trevor? What’re you doing he— did you get in a fight last night?” She stands up, hands braced on her desk.

Trevor closes the door behind himself. “I need a favor, Mitch, and it’s kind of a big one.”

She walks around the desk and grabs his chin. His expression tightens, but he doesn’t make a sound as she turns his face this way and that to get a good look at him. Once she’s as satisfied as she’s going to get, she finally lets go and perches on the the desk closest to Trevor, crossing her arms. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

“I…need an alibi.”

Her eyes widen. “Trevor…”

“I know what it looks like!” he says quickly. He drops into the empty chair. “Trust me, I know how I look. But that’s sort of the problem. I need an alibi because I didn’t do what they’re going to think I did, but they’re going to take one look at me and think I’m lying.”

Mitch is still frowning. “...I’m gonna need more than that, Trevor.”

“It’s not—someone stole something from the university museum. I was with the guy who they’re gonna point fingers at. I just want to make sure he’s covered.”

“So you want me to lie and risk getting both of us in more trouble than if you just told them the truth? What is the truth?” she sounds skeptical. “Your story’s not adding up, kid.”

“Look,” Trevor says, and he knows he’s pleading now, but Mitch is his only chance here. “You’re right. There’s more to the story, but I can’t tell you. I’m just asking as your friend.”

She still looks upset, but there’s nothing else Trevor can offer her. “...If I agree to it, what d’you need from me?” Trevor perks up a little, and she holds a finger out in warning. “I said _if_ , buddy. No promises yet.”

“Just tell them me and two others showed up around…eight—no, eight-thirty. And we were here until close. You can play dumb if they come at you about my fake ID. If I have to take the fall for it, that’s fine; it’ll cover the rest of the story, if I play it right.”

Mitch chews on that for a few seconds. “…Two others?”

“Sypha and another friend. Adrian.”

Mitch searches his face for a long moment, trying to read between the lines of what he’s telling her. “This Sypha,” she starts carefully. “Is she the one getting you into whatever this is?”

Trevor lets out a surprised bark of laughter. “Sypha?” he says. “God, no. That’s—no. Whatever you’re thinking, I can promise it’s not that.” He wishes he could explain everything, but he can’t. Even if she were to believe him—a tall order in and of itself—telling her would only put her at greater risk.

Mitch holds his gaze, trying to read him when neither of them are willing to be the first to concede. Usually he’s so easy for her to read; straightforward. But there’s more now, something that she can’t place before she sighs and looks away. “Fine.”

Trevor stands quickly. For a second he looks like he might pull her into a hug before he thinks better of it. “ _Thank you,_ Mitch.”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t make me fucking regret this. Now get out of my office before I change my goddamn mind.”

He claps her on the shoulder as he rushes out, and Mitch stares after him long after he’s closed the door behind him.

* * *

 The police show up just as Trevor’s getting home.

“Trevor Belmont?”

Trevor looks up from shoving his key into the lock and glances between the two men. They flash their badges at him as he stops working at the door to turn around and face them. “Yeah,” he says cautiously. “That’s me.”

“Hawthorne City Police. I’m Detective Simmons; this is my partner, Detective Bailey. Do you know one Adrian Tepes?”

Trevor does his level best not to make a face when they say his name like that, ‘teh-pess’. “Yeah,” he says again. “He’s a friend of mine. What about him?”

“Were you and Mr. Tepes together last night?”

“Țepeș,” Trevor corrects before he can stop himself.

“I’m sorry?” Simmons says.

Well. In for a penny, out for a pound. “It’s _Țepeș,_ ” Trevor repeats. “It’s Romanian.”

The cops share a look between them. “…Noted,” Simmons says. “Were you and Mr. _Țepeș_ together last night?”

“We were together all night,” Trevor says slowly. “What is this about?”

“Can anyone else corroborate that?”

“Our other friend Sypha was with us, too. We went to a bar together before they came back to my place and stayed the night.”

“What was the name of this bar?”

Trevor crosses his arms. “Is this an interrogation?”

The two men share another look between them before the second guy speaks up for the first time. “There was a robbery late last night at the university museum; we’re just trying to get to the bottom of it.”

“By asking where the curator was?” Trevor clarifies.

“Yes.”

He holds Simmons’s gaze for a long moment before he finally glances away first; a concession. “Bar called The Alley Cat. It’s downtown.”

“What time would you say you arrived there?”

“I dunno. Like eight-thirty?”

“And how late did you stay?”

“’Til closing.”

“And then you came back here.”

“Yeah.” Detective Bailey has started writing notes now, jotting them down in a small notebook he’s pulled out of his coat pocket.

“What time would you say Mr. Țepeș left, then?”

“I dunno. Afternoon today? We woke up and went and got brunch together before he said he had to get back to the museum.”

They look a little frustrated, like he’s not giving them the sort of information they want. And although they don’t say anything or even seem to act on it, it brings him a vindictive sort of pleasure.

“Alright,” Simmons says after a pause. “Just one more question. What happened to your face?”

Trevor meets his stare and refuses to look away or show weakness. “Got mugged,” he says flatly.

“At the bar?”

“No. It was a couple days ago.”

“Did you know the guy?”

“I mean, it was a mugging…so no. Ran off before I could catch him. Are we done here? Can I go? I don’t think me getting mugged has anything to do with something getting stolen at the museum.”

“…We’re done,” Simmons finally concedes. “We’ll reach out again if we have any further questions. Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Belmont.”

Trevor nods, and the three of them just stand there until it’s clear that Trevor’s not going inside until they leave. It takes them a couple seconds more, but finally, disgruntled, they turn and go.

Trevor texts Sypha as soon as he’s inside, dropping his keys on the counter as he asks her to tell Adrian the cops just spoke to him.

It takes Sypha over half an hour to text him back, leaving Trevor pacing as he tries to do something to distract himself waiting for her. He tosses the beer cans stacked up on the coffee table and dumps his blankets back on his bed without bothering to rearrange them in any semblance of order, and he dives for his phone the second he hears it vibrate.

From: Sypha | 5:52 PM  
_He says thank you and that he wants to meet tomorrow. Regular time & place after work._

It’s anticlimactic and lacks any of Sypha’s real personality, and he texts back a simple _‘Got it,’_ before he drops his phone back on the counter, then drops his forehead there, too, and bangs it once for good measure. He wants to say more, but something tells him to hold back. Besides, he reasons with himself. He can talk to her tomorrow before class.

Except, not quite.

Trevor shows up to his Philosophy class the next morning and it’s like the past weekend didn’t happen at all. He tries to catch Sypha’s elbow and she gently but firmly pulls her arm from his grasp and takes a step backward. “Did you have a question, Trevor?” she says, and he steps back like he’s been burned.

“No,” he mutters under his breath. He turns his back to her, heading for his desk. “Sorry.”

He can see the look of guilt on Sypha’s face for the rest of the class, though she tries to hide it. He wishes it made him feel better, but it doesn’t. He catches Hannah looking between the two of them, too, though she doesn’t say anything to anyone. Trevor debates whether to say something to Sypha after class, but she takes the decision from him when she hurriedly leaves as soon as they’ve been dismissed, before he even has a chance to grab her.

Trevor spends the rest of the day wondering if she’s even going to show up to their meeting with Adrian, but of course he should have known better than to doubt her. She’s there, just like she said she would be, as he walks into the coffee shop and gets in line.

Her hands are curled around a coffee cup that she stares down at, and she doesn’t even seem to register that he’s there until he’s already taken a seat at the table and sticks a finger in his ear. “You gonna talk to me now, or what?” he says plainly.

“Wh—oh. Trevor. I didn’t see you there.”

“I gathered.” He reaches out for her, an offering of comfort, but Sypha startles and pulls her hands back quickly, looking around. Trevor’s eyes widen as he pulls back and drops his hands in his lap and keeps them there. “Right. Got it.” They both sit there in silence and Trevor watches Sypha as she drops her gaze back to her coffee cup, but he can only take the silence for so long. “Okay, I’m not doing this. We need to talk.”

Adrian arrives before Sypha can respond. “Good evening, you two,” he greets cordially. “I thought we could go back to my hotel for some privacy.”

Trevor and Sypha meet each other’s gazes. “Not here,” she says to Trevor, standing up to follow Adrian; she still won’t properly look at him. Trevor scowls as he stands, too, and Adrian glances between the two of them with a furrowed brow, trying to figure out what’s wrong.

“Don’t look at me,” Trevor mutters.

It makes the walk uncomfortably awkward. Adrian seems to decide early on that he wants nothing to do with it and does his level best to walk several paces in front of the two of them. Trevor fiddles with his phone while Sypha just stares at the ground. The painful silence hangs over them, threatening to burst, all the way until they reach the hotel and get into the elevator. The second the doors close, they all speak as one.

“Look, whatever is going on between the two of you—”

“Sypha, if I did something—”

“Trevor, I’m sorry I—”

They all stop, and the absurdity of the moment catches all three of them off-guard. They start to laugh, slow at first then building louder. The elevator stops in the middle of their fit and the door opens. A couple stand on the other side of the door, watching them in concern and dressed for the pool.

“We’ll just— catch the next one,” the woman mutters. They hold eye contact until the doors close again, and the second they do it sets them off again, until Sypha is doubled over and Adrian has collapsed against her and Trevor slouches against the elevator wall, covering his face with his hand.

Trevor guffaws, wiping at his eyes. “Their _faces,_ ” he gasps out.

They’re still laughing when they reach Adrian’s floor, doing their best to force deep breaths and calm down. If nothing else, it’s at least broken the heavy air that had settled around them, and Sypha places herself firmly between Trevor and Adrian.

“We _do_ need to talk,” she says quietly as Adrian unlocks his room door. “Adrian, would you mind giving Trevor and I a few minutes alone?”

Adrian looks surprised as he pushes the door open for them with one hand before he schools his expression and nods. “Very well. I’ll just…take a walk.”

Sypha waits for the door to close before she turns around to look at Trevor. They both stand at the foot of the bed, just staring at each other before Sypha finally speaks. “I got scared,” she says. “When I saw Hannah looking at us.”

“We haven’t done anything,” Trevor says, immediately defensive.

Sypha gives Trevor a steady look until he has to look away. “Can you really say that? Honestly?”

Trevor goes quiet and sits on the end of the bed, looking down at his hands. “…Alright,” he concedes. “Maybe it’s a bit more complicated than that.”

Sypha sits next to him. “This weekend has been…filling, in a way I didn’t know I needed. I certainly can’t say _amazing_ , all things considered, but I feel…like I know myself more now, if that makes sense?”

Trevor nods. “I know what you mean.”

“And I guess I just…in the face of everything that happened, I lost sight of the fact that we’re not the people we were. We have whole lives here, Trevor, and we can’t just…forget that.”

Trevor nods again, because what else can he do? Tell Sypha that for him, there really isn’t much of a life to cling to? He _gets it_ , is the thing. He knows Sypha has more at stake here, but right now all he really wants to do is, well. Kiss her.

“I’m not going to lie and say I don’t have feelings for you,” she continues. “I think it would be pretty stupid of me to try and suggest otherwise, but right now we can’t, okay? Right now we just have to get through the semester, and then we’ll see. Does that sound fair?” He nods again and Sypha makes an aggravated sound. “Please say something.”

“I—” Trevor looks up and over at her, letting out a frustrated sigh. “There’s really not anything for me to say, Sypha. I’m not mad at you, if that’s what you’re worried about. Trust me, I get it. I know that doing anything would get you into more trouble than it would me. That doesn’t mean I don’t still want to, though. But you’re also—” he stops, on the precipice of having to admit to the sort of emotional vulnerability it’s hard for him to claim. “I’d never force you to do something you weren’t ready to do,” he says instead, voice going softer. “I know we’ve only _really_ known each other for—Christ, barely three months—but you’re…kind of my best friend. You just… _feel right._ You make me feel safe, and heard, and I probably sound like a total idiot right now, huh?”

Sypha throws her arms around him in answer, pulling him into a tight, squeezing hug. “You’re my best friend, too,” she says into his neck as he slowly brings his hands up to wrap them around her in return. “I’ve never felt more listened to than when I’m with the two of you.”

Trevor’s begun rubbing soothing circles against her back and he lets his forehead rest against the crook of her neck. “We should probably go get him, huh?”

Sypha pulls away reluctantly and looks at the door. “Adrian,” she says at a regular volume. “If you’re outside you can come in now.”

There’s a brief moment of silence before the sound of the door unlocking. “I can wait if you still want more time alone…” he says as he comes inside.

Sypha rolls her eyes and moves so she can hold one hand out to him. “Oh, come here you big baby.”

Adrian hesitates for only a moment before he does as he’s told, and Sypha pulls him into the fold so she can hold both of them. Trevor moves too, so he can wrap one arm around Adrian’s waist as he feels Adrian rest his forehead against Trevor in return.

Adrian’s the first to pull away. “There _was_ a reason for this visit,” he says as he stands. He clears his throat and goes to pick up two books sitting on the desk. “Speaker magic, as I mentioned,” he says as he passes them to Sypha. “And Trevor, I have something for you, as well.”

Trevor perks up, pulling away from Sypha as she begins to flip through the books in curiosity. “Really? Wait, it’s not a book, is it? Not that I can’t appreciate a good book now and then, but I’m not gonna go starry-eyed over it like _some_ people.”

Sypha kicks him lightly, and Adrian smiles mischievously as he moves to his suitcase. Trevor is beginning to like that smile and what it usually entails, though he doesn’t have a clue what Adrian could…have…for him…

Trevor stares at the whip that Adrian has presented to him, laid out on a white cloth in his hands. “You’re giving me a _whip?_ ” he confirms.

“It was yours before. You eventually moved on to another, better one, so I kept this one when I—” Adrian seems to realize what he’s about to say and clams up, pressing his lips in a thin line and looking away. Trevor’s too enraptured with the whip to notice, but Sypha sees it. She furrows her brow, watching Adrian, but he recovers quickly and passes the whip completely into Trevor’s hands.

“I must admit, it’s relieving to be free of it. Sentimentality kept it near me, but it—hm. How to put this?” Trevor looks up from his examination of the whip, coiling and uncoiling it in his hands. “It’s a holy weapon; I cannot touch it with bare skin else I will be burned.”

Trevor and Sypha both give him surprised looks. “You…kept it even though it could hurt you?”

Adrian shrugs instead of giving a real answer and moves around Trevor to pick up one of the books he’d given Sypha. He flips it idly, and Trevor and Sypha share a look when they both recognize this as an attempt to avoid the question.

“Must’ve meant a lot to you,” Trevor presses a little more.

Adrian closes the book with a quiet _snap_. “Indeed,” he agrees. “So I hope you won’t let it get immediately destroyed. Have you ever used one of them before?”

Trevor stares down at the whip, shaking his head slowly. “No,” he confesses. “But…is it strange to say I feel like I know how to use it?”

Adrian looks pleased. “That’s a good sign. We’ll have to find somewhere for you to practice with it. It’s all well and good to remember its methods, but that won’t mean anything if your body isn’t trained for it.”

Trevor stands up and begins to go slowly through the motions as Adrian joins Sypha back on the bed to comb through the books, and instinct guides him from form to form. He can’t unfurl the whip in here which is a shame, but muscle memory takes over regardless. He doesn’t even seem to notice when Adrian and Sypha both find their attention drawn to him, turning away from what they were doing to watch him.

“By the way,” Trevor says as he eases out of the lunge he’d ended up in and re-coils his whip. “I’ve been thinking about what you said yesterday, about the vampire woman? You said she seemed familiar.”

Adrian nods. “I did.”

“I dunno, something about that just seemed to stick with me. She seems familiar to me, too. She kind of gives me the creeps, honestly.”

They both look at Sypha, and she drums her fingers on the cover of one of the books, looking thoughtful. “I guess I was so distracted getting electrocuted by the magician, but now that you mention it, I know what you means about her giving you the creeps.”

“And you’re sure it was more than recognition of her as the creature stalking you the other night?”

“Definitely.” Sypha nods in agreement.

Adrian hums in thought. “Very well. I will ponder it further. Perhaps we faced her in the past at some point. It might be our best lead at the moment, but for now we should discuss the police. Sypha mentioned they’d spoken to both of you yesterday?” They both nod. “Excellent. I’ve not heard from them since yesterday afternoon, so I can only assume that your alibi held up. You’ll have to thank your friends at The Alley Cat for me. Going forward, however, we must be careful. This is all well and good, but for the time being the two of you are rather defenseless. You will have to focus on training before you go any further in pursuit of these thieves.”

Sypha furrows her brow. “What? We can’t do that. Didn’t you say people were going missing? If that’s true we can’t just sit around while that happens!”

Trevor nods, moving to stand beside Sypha. “I’m with Sypha on this one.”

Adrian presses two fingers to his forehead. “I’m not advocating for leaving people defenseless,” he says a tad defensively. “But if the two of you go out there as you currently are, the only thing likely to happen is getting yourselves hurt again.”

“So what are you suggesting instead, then?”

“I will continue to monitor downtown on my own for the time being—”

“Whoa, pump the brakes on that one, buddy,” Trevor puts his hand up to stop Adrian before he goes any further. “We could barely take them between the three of us, and now you want to face them on your own? And that doesn’t sound like a bad idea to you?”

“Trevor’s right,” Sypha agrees. “That sounds like the stupid sort of plan _he_ would come up with.”

“Hey!”

Adrian makes a noise in the back of his throat. “This isn’t up for debate,” he says, annoyance coloring his voice. “If the two of you go out you might get hurt—”

“And if you do you’ll _definitely_ get hurt!” Sypha snaps.

Adrian inhales—and then he has to look away, unable to look Sypha in the eyes when he sees the look on her face. “I was going out to look for them on my own before you, you know.”

“But you didn’t have us then! And you didn’t know then what you know now. We’re stronger _together_ , Adrian. Trevor and I may not be experts at fighting yet, but we can still protect you. You just have to _let us._ ”

Adrian is silent. “...Very well,” he finally concedes. He still won’t look at either of them, but his shoulders slump in defeat. “I will inform both of you before I go looking. Will that appease you?”

Trevor and Sypha both share a look before they nod. “Yes,” Sypha says.

Unfortunately, they can’t stay as late as they did the day before. Sypha mentions that she has homework she has to finish that night, and Trevor grumbles when he realizes that he too didn’t get anything finished over the weekend. So Adrian lets them go with their new gifts, Sypha promising to read through the books as soon as she’s able.

They’re quiet on the way down, neither Trevor nor Sypha speaking much as the elevator opens into the lobby and they head out. Trevor feels the whip burning where it’s coiled against his hip and wonders if anyone will comment, but no one pays them any mind.

“Do you ever think he looks sad?” Sypha asks as they step outside.

“Sorry, what was that?”

“Adrian,” Sypha clarifies. She looks up at the building behind them as they walk. “Do you ever think he looks sad?”

“I…hadn’t really noticed,” Trevor says a bit sheepishly.

Sypha rolls her eyes. “Of course you hadn’t,” she says sardonically. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just imagining things. But sometimes I look at him and I feel like there’s so much he’s not telling us.”

“I’m sure there is,” Trevor points out rationally. “There’s still a lot we don’t know about ourselves.”

“Yeah…” Sypha agrees. She sighs, and Trevor nudges her elbow, but she just shakes her head. “I just hope he knows he can trust us.”

“We’ll prove to him he can.”

Sypha smiles slightly and bumps his body with hers. “Thanks, Trevor,” she says. They walk in silence.

* * *

  _Trevor dreams that night of teeth pressed deep into his neck and warm breath that ghosts across his skin._

_“Trevor,” a voice calls distantly to him._

_“Nrgh.” He feels like he can’t form words, like he’s floating, like he’s balanced on the edge of a knife waiting to tip over the edge._

_“Trevor,” that voice says again. He’d thought it was Sypha’s voice, but now he realizes it’s not. It’s Adrian’s._

_But that doesn’t make sense, he thinks, as Adrian pulls one long drag from Trevor’s neck and Trevor arches his back—_

Trevor jolts up in bed, looking around to figure out what it was that woke him.

The house sits quiet for a second before someone starts pounding on his front door. Trevor grabs his whip from his bedside table before he goes to check. It’s instinct, not practicality. He wouldn’t know what to do with it if it came to an actual fight.

He peers through the peephole on the front door before he opens it, almost missing Adrian slumped against the wall on the right. His eyes widen and Trevor hastily undoes the locks, swinging the door wide open.

“Adrian—Christ!”

Adrian pitches into Trevor’s arms the second he tries to stand up, looking pale and washed out. He’s _covered_ in blood, his neck and his chest and his second ruined shirt in a week. “You were right,” he whispers hoarsely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trevor voice: fuck blue lives
> 
> And yes before you ask, Trevor was absolutely having a sex dream about Adrian sucking his blood before he woke up. Thank u, next.


	12. Part I | Chapter 12

Trevor’s quick to get both his arms under Adrian, hoisting him up bridal style to carry him back to his bedroom. His blue veins stand out prominently against his alabaster skin, even paler than usual. “Hang on, I’ve got you,” he grunts. Adrian doesn’t even protest, pressing his forehead into Trevor’s collarbone. His fingers clutch weakly at Trevor’s shirt.

“Where are you hurt?” Trevor asks. He has to kick his door back open from where it had partially closed behind him. Adrian lets out a quiet huff of laughter.

“Look at you,” he murmurs. “Must be so excited to play the hero.”

“Let me guess: you did this all on purpose so you could play the damsel in distress.”

“How did you— _eurgh_ —know?”

Trevor lays him down on the bed as gently as he can. Adrian clings to his shirt uncharacteristically, not wanting to let go. Trevor catches Adrian’s hand in his and gives a tiny squeeze before he pulls it away. He does his best to take stock of where Adrian’s injured: there’s blood on his shirt again but as far as he can tell no injuries. “Tell me what happened.”

“I went looking for them even though I told the two of you I wouldn’t. I knew she seemed familiar, it was her fighting style…”

“Okay, Adrian. Backstory _later_ , what did they do to you?”

Adrian’s head thumps back on the bed. There’s no light in here, just the light coming in from the living room; enough to catch on Adrian’s glazed eyes.

“...Blood,” he finally manages, bringing a washed out hand to his neck. “She drained my blood.”

Trevor’s eyes widen. “You can do that with another vampire?”

Adrian nods faintly, closing his eyes. “We drain humans for nourishment,” he murmurs. “We drain other vampires to kill.”

“Take my blood, then,” he offers near instantly.

Adrian hmphs softly. “I can’t.”

“What the hell do you mean ‘can’t’?”

“You last gave me your blood less than a week ago. Your stores haven’t been replenished.”

“I’ll get Sypha, then.”

Adrian sits up as well as he can manage and looks like he’s about to protest and Trevor is ready to fight, because he’s not just letting this go; but then Adrian just closes his eyes again and slumps back down. “Very well.”

Trevor grabs his phone off the nightstand. He doesn’t waste any time and just shoots off a quick text before he puts his phone back and goes to find Adrian a new shirt that’s not covered in blood.

To: Sypha | 2:38 AM  
_Emergency. Come now._

“The two of you are going to run through all my clean clothes at this rate,” he jokes as he pulls something out of his closet.

“My apologies,” Adrian offers quietly.

Trevor shrugs and folds a shirt over his forearm. “I can always buy new shirts. I’ll be right back, let me get you something to wipe off the blood with.”

Adrian nods. He pushes himself into a seated position as Trevor goes, but he’s already dozing in place by the time Trevor returns with a wrung out washcloth.

Trevor perches on the edge of the bed and reaches out for Adrian. The other man flails the second Trevor touches his throat. _“Sh_ , it’s just me,” Trevor assuages. He does his best to keep Adrian from moving too much without making him feel trapped, but something in his voice does the trick and Adrian calms again. “I have to clean your throat and make sure there’s no open wounds, alright?”

Adrian gives a half-jerk of a nod, not much but enough for Trevor to push closer and press the damp cloth to Adrian’s neck. The man hisses between his teeth, baring his fangs, but he remains still.

And then Adrian’s hand whips out and seizes Trevor’s wrist like a vice as he moves the wrong way. He feels nails dig into his skin and he pulls his hand back.

“Adrian, let go,” he says firmly.

Adrian’s eyes are narrowed and Trevor can feel the give of his skin, so close to breaking under Adrian’s grip. This is the first time he’s ever looked at Adrian and thought _vampire._

 _“Adrian,”_ he repeats.

Adrian’s eyes widen and he drops Trevor’s arm. Trevor watches the adrenaline fade from him quickly after that and he slumps his shoulders. “My apologies. Again.”

“It’s fine.” Trevor presses the washcloth back into Adrian’s skin and rubs at it. Adrian hisses again, but it’s resigned now rather than angry. “She got you pretty good,” he says when he’s finally satisfied the wound has been cleaned. He leans in closer to inspect his throat, and finds four gashes evenly spaced and about two inches long.

They look angry and inflamed, still open and unhealed but at least no longer bleeding, and bright red from Trevor’s ministrations. And on the other side of his neck are two small pinpricks side by side. On a regular human being, the gashes would undoubtedly require stitches, but with Adrian he thinks the best option is just to let him rest until Sypha can get there.

“Sleep,” he murmurs, voice soft. He reaches out to brush Adrian’s hair out of his face where it had fallen. His thumb traces circles against his skin. “We’ll wake you when Sypha gets here.”

Adrian’s shoulders sag and he nods, expression pained. Trevor tries to stand up and adjust the pillows under Adrian to make him a little more comfortable, but the man grabs hold of his shirt again and shakes his head, once.

“Stay,” he requests.

Trevor doesn’t know what possesses him to do it, but he leans forward ghosts his lips across Adrian’s temple. “Alright,” he agrees.

They don’t have to wait long. Adrian dozes in and out for only five minutes or so before Trevor hears rapid-fire knocking on his door.

“Trevor!” Sypha calls. _“Trevor!”_

Trevor reluctantly pulls himself away. “I’ll be right back,” he promises Adrian’s sleeping form.

Sypha looks, understandably, like she’d just woken up and rolled out of bed, into the nearest sweatshirt and tennis shoes.

“What’s wrong?” she demands immediately. “What happened?”

He jerks his head in the direction of his bedroom. “He went out and did the one thing we told him not to. He needs blood and he said he wouldn’t take mine since he already has.” Trevor realizes abruptly that he hasn’t actually asked Sypha if she’s alright with that and has more or less just volunteered her to the job. “If that’s alright with you.”

Sypha’s already shoving past him, unwrapping the scarf on her neck and giving Trevor an unimpressed look. “Is that even a question?” she shakes her head and heads into his room. “Adrian?” she calls gently.

Adrian makes a pained sound low in his throat. “Adrian!” She hurries to his side, quick to shed her sweatshirt the second she sees him.

“Come here, sit up.”

Sypha climbs into his lap like it’s nothing and guides Adrian closer, pushing her hair away from her neck and tilting her head away. “Is it too soon to say I told you—so…”

Her voice cuts off as Adrian sinks his fangs into her neck. He watches the way she presses herself further into Adrian’s chest and lets out a tiny moan, and Trevor remembers the way Sypha had watched him and Adrian that day and remembers his dream and thinks, _oh. Is this what Sypha felt like watching us?_

He can see the shift in Adrian the moment he’s tasted Sypha— the way he lunges forward and wraps his arms around her waist to hold her in place. He drinks desperate and greedy, his body doing its level best to replace the blood it had stolen.

Trevor worries only briefly that Adrian won’t stop. He almost reaches for his whip, just in case, remembering what Adrian said about it burning him if he were to touch it.

But the man pulls off with a gasp before Trevor can worry too much. He spots the blood on Adrian’s lips before he brings a hand up to cover his mouth, quickly licking away the remnants as Sypha drops her head on his shoulder.

“Are you alright?” Adrian whispers. He sounds better already, not as hoarse, and when Trevor gets closer he thinks he can see the edges of his wounds already look less inflamed.

Sypha nods against Adrian’s shoulder. “I’m fine,” she says. “Just need a second.”

“I’ll grab you something to eat,” Trevor says without prompting. He comes back a minute later with a pack of crackers and a juice box. Because he has those now. Like an adult.

Sypha’s moved now, no longer sitting in Adrian’s lap but next to him on the edge of the bed. Both her feet are on the ground and her head is in her hands.

“Here,” Trevor offers quietly. He crouches in front of her and holds the food out. Sypha groans and reaches out for the snacks without looking. “Alright?”

“Headache,” she croaks out.

Adrian’s hand slips under her shirt and begins rubbing soothing circles there. “Thank you, Sypha.”

She turns her head just enough to give him a tired smile. “Of course. Are you ready to talk about what happened?”

Adrian sits quiet for a moment. “I know what they’re seeking to do with my father’s ashes,” he says finally.

“Well that’s a good thing, isn’t it?” Trevor rationalizes. He punches an open palm with his fist. “The more we know the easier it is to take them down.”

“If only it were so easy. No. They’re… looking to bring my father back from the dead.”

Trevor gives a start. Sypha lifts her head and exchanges a look with Trevor before they both turn to face Adrian. “How…is that possible?” Sypha presses.

Adrian balls both his hands into fists on either knee, knuckles going white. Without ever having to communicate a thing, Trevor and Sypha each reach out to take one of his hands and gently unfurl them there. He seems to resist at first, before he realizes what he’s doing and closes his eyes and lets out a breath, relaxing both hands in their grasp.

“I suppose it starts with the vampire woman—Kisa. You remember I mentioned she seemed familiar the other day? I figured out why: it was because I recognized her fighting style. I couldn’t place it at first, but the more I fought her…” he trails off, looking thoughtful. “I knew her sire, the man who changed her and presumably the one who taught her.” He looks pained, and Trevor and Sypha stay quiet to let him continue. “I encountered the man many years ago after he stole something from my father’s personal library.”

“What was it?”

Adrian hesitates briefly. “It…my father was a polymath, he studied a great range of topics and in turn taught them to my mother. Science and biology and mathematics; but literature, history, and the occult, as well. In this particular instance, it was a book of sorcery. He was hardly a man of magic himself, tending towards the hard sciences, but he was known to dabble. After he died, I took it upon myself to ensure the knowledge he had collected did not fall into the wrong hands. For the most part, I succeeded. Most were hidden away before anyone could get to them. The handful that were pilfered and sold off were recovered. Except for this one. I tracked it down to the man and tried to get it back— peacefully at first, until he reacted with violence.”

“And you never got it back?”

Adrian shakes his head. “Of a sort. In the final confrontation, the book was torn apart. I recovered one half of the book, but he escaped with the rest. I spent the next ten years trying to track him down, to no avail. It was as if he had disappeared. And now it has turned up once again, all these years later.”

“And this book—you think they’re using it to resurrect him?” Sypha asks. “What sort of spells did it have?”

Adrian “Summoning demons, casting curses, and—I believe—resurrection.”

“You believe?” Trevor says.

Adrian gives him a look.

“It was just a question!” Trevor says defensively.

Adrian sighs. “Yes, I believe so, because the book was torn on what I believe was a resurrection ritual, but without the first half of the book I cannot say for certain.”

“What would a resurrection ritual even call for?” Sypha says thoughtfully.

“If I had to wager a guess? Human sacrifice.” Trevor and Sypha both reel back from that. “It would certainly explain the disappearances, if they’re trying to figure out the rest of the ritual that’s missing. They can’t perform the complete thing yet; they’re likely experimenting to figure out the details.”

Sypha’s hand goes to her mouth. “Please don’t tell me that means you think all those people are dead.”

Adrian nods, looking somber. “I suspect so, yes.”

“Tch.”

The noise catches Adrian and Sypha’s attention and they both glance at Trevor, his hands clenched into fists and the stubborn set of his brow. “We’ll make sure they get their comeuppance.”

Adrian nods. “Indeed.

“Unfortunately, there is little else we can do tonight with neither Sypha nor myself at full capacity. If they really are committing human sacrifice it will require a larger space to work: they might be operating out of the warehouse district. We can pursue that line of inquiry tomorrow.”

Trevor hates to admit it, but Adrian’s right. Sypha looks as reluctant as him, but eventually she nods, too.

“Alright,” Trevor says with a grunt. He stands up and brushes a lock of Adrian’s hair out of the man’s face. “You should rest.” Sypha looks at Trevor curiously, but he just inclines his head in the direction of the door. After a moment, Sypha kisses the top of Adrian’s head and climbs off the the bed to follow him out.

“Trevor’s right,” she says softly. “Sleep. We’ll be back in a minute.” Adrian doesn’t look happy with the decision, but he lets them go without a fight.

They’re otherwise quiet until they’re standing in the kitchen.

“What is it?” Sypha asks quietly.

“…His story,” Trevor says after a moment. “It’s not that I don’t believe it, but that woman—Kisa. That’s not why I know her. I wanted to know what you thought.”

Sypha chews on her lip as she thinks about that, hopping up onto the counter. Trevor crosses his arms. “…I agree,” she says finally. “There’s more to it. I just wish I could remember what I _want_ to remember, when I need to remember it!”

Trevor puts his hand on her thigh. “I know,” he says. “It seems like most of these memories have no rhyme or reason, but we’ll figure it out.” He shoves her shoulder gently. “Now, c’mon. I’m sure he’s waiting for us, and I just wanted to make sure you were on the same page as I was.”

Adrian’s already dozing when they come back into the room, waking up just enough that they can shove him over and squeeze onto the bed. It’s tight, but they make it work with only minor grumbling (“Trevor, why are you so _big!”_ “It’s not like I chose to be this size. Besides Adrian’s just as broad as I am!” and “‘M cancelling class tomorrow,” which Sypha mutters as she rolls over and presses her feet against Trevor’s calves.

 _“Christ,_ your feet are cold,” he bites back).

“Adrian?” Sypha whispers once they’re settled into bed, the comforter pulled up high and all the lights off.

“Hm?” he already sounds half-asleep again.

“Please don’t put yourself into danger without us, again. We want to protect you.”

Adrian is quiet, for so long that Trevor thinks he’s fallen asleep and is on the verge of sleep himself before Adrian answers. “I should have learned that the first time around, hm?”

Sypha mumbles something incoherent; probably an agreement.

“You’re right.” Trevor feels the bed shift as Adrian moves slightly; he opens one heavy eye and watches the way Adrian hovers over Sypha’s form. He leans down for only a moment before he rolls back over onto his side.

Trevor’s eyes close, and he falls asleep like that. It’s nice.

* * *

  _Trevor dreams of a library._

_Alucard and Sypha sit on opposite ends of a wooden table. The table is littered with books, but they’ve all been shoved out of their way like they’d been in the middle of working on something when something more important had come along._

_Trevor paces a few feet to the right._

_“A book of the occult?” he says, stopping to turn and look at Alucard. “You’re sure?”_

_Alucard nods. “It was little used by my father as I believe the summonings required too much effort for the reward they offered but he held onto the book, anyway. I believe it was an oblation from an old witch that moved into his domain and sought his protection, many years ago.”_

_“And now some vampire is off the rails with this book in his possession. Great.” He resumes pacing._

_“For what it’s worth,” Alucard offers, “I don’t think it likely for him to attempt anything quite yet. The book requires great magical skill; it’s possible, but more likely he would have to gain years of training before he could even attempt one of the more powerful spells.”_

_“Okay. Alright, that does make me feel a little better. Not fucking much, mind you, but. A bit. So how do we find it?”_

_Alucard exhales, not answering immediately._

_“Oh, no. I don’t like that.”_

_“It’s only that—if I’m right, then he will likely being staying low and focusing on training. It will be harder to track him if that’s the case. I don’t think we can bring him to us the way we brought the castle, as the castle had its own teleportation abilities. Nor has the distance mirror been able to give me enough detail to pin down a specific location. Looking for an individual is much more difficult than looking for an entire building. I’m able to see the inside of rooms, but rarely any significant markers of location.”_

_“So we’re shit out of luck,” Trevor sums up._

_“Not quite; I’m not without an idea. I have a feeling he’ll likely move through supernatural circles looking for additional information. Money in the right hands, and I’m sure we can get a tip on his movements with nothing more than a small delay.”_

_Trevor exhales through his nose. “Fine,” he finally concedes, grumbling. “Not like we really have another choice.”_

_But every avenue comes up short._

_They learn the vampire’s name—Dr. Mathias Bannister—but little else in the ensuing months. Alucard is relentless in his pursuit, checking the distance mirror daily for any new clue and disappearing for days at a time to chase a lead. Trevor and Sypha struggle to understand his dogged determination, but they follow him nonetheless when he asks it of them._

_Until he starts asking it of them less and less, coming home from confrontations aggravated at first, then physically injured later. Not just a magician, he tells them, but a skilled swordsman, as well._

_“You can’t keep running off on your own to deal with this, Alucard!” Sypha snaps after he returns home looking particularly bad off. “We’re here to help you but we can’t do that when you try to fight like some—some lone wolf!”_

_Alucard goes quiet, looking down at his hands with shame._

_“Why are you doing this?” Sypha presses further, but whatever is running through his head, Alucard stays silent._

_“…I will tell you,” he says finally, “the next lead I get.”_

_“Okay,” Sypha says, because there’s nothing else she can say. “Okay.”_

_Alucard keeps his promise, alerting them as he comes up from the Hold that he’s pinned Dr. Bannister’s location down, but they must act quickly._

_The trio leap into action, and they manage to catch him on the tail end of his visit to the underbelly of Bucharest._

_“A shame,” he says as he stares down Alucard’s sword. “I thought you’d learned your lesson after all this time, but it seems I was mistaken.” He looks over Trevor and Sypha before he shakes his head. “You’ll learn one day, Alucard son of Dracula.” And he reaches out with supernatural speed, grabbing Alucard’s wrist and twisting—he forces the sword down, then keeps pressing on to slacken Alucard’s grip so he can seize the sword and drive it through Alucard’s stomach._

_It all happens in the span of a second and Sypha screams as Alucard’s knees hit the floor._

_“The book—” he chokes out as Dr. Bannister flees. “The book—”_

_Trevor obeys, diving for Bannister while Sypha rushes to Alucard’s side._

_Trevor throws the Morning Star in the air and throws it out. It curls once, twice around the vampire’s wrist and he screams as he drops the book, a scream that turns to a hiss as Trevor moves closer to grab it._

_The vampire grabs the chains of the Morning Star before he can, pulling Trevor in. Trevor’s eyes widen, watching the way the skin of his hand bubbles and boils at the holy touch, but he doesn’t let go until Trevor’s close enough to grab with his talons, wrapping his fingers around Trevor’s neck and squeezing._

_Trevor drives the butt of his palm up into the vampire’s nose and hears the satisfying crunch as Bannister drops his hold and hits the ground._

_It’s not a victory, though; not as Bannister seizes the spell book and flips it open, pulling himself back onto his feet as he begins to write sigils in the air._

_“Stop him—!” Alucard chokes out._

_Trevor dives for the spell book as the vampire finishes writing his spell._

"Effugium," _he pronounces; the final, verbal component to his spell._

_The whole room goes a blinding white as Trevor gropes for the book. He can feel the worn leather cover and digs his nails in, even as it begins to feel liquid, here and not-here all at once. His hand begins to burn and every instinct screams in him to pull back. He doesn’t—just grits his teeth and bears it until, with a huge gust of wind, he’s thrown backwards twenty feet._

_Trevor blinks back stars as the light vanishes as quickly as it had come, leaving the three of them in unnatural darkness. It takes Trevor several seconds to readjust to the light, but Dr. Bannister is gone._

_“Does he have it?” Alucard presses. Sypha’s pulled the sword from him, but he still holds his hand to his stomach as he tries to hobble to Trevor. “Belmont, did you get the book?”_

_Trevor looks down at the spell book in his hands, the binding now torn in two inside the leather cover._

_“No,” Trevor says, tossing it to the ground in disgust. “Not really.”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More of the story is revealed—but more importantly, the trio get some well-deserved rest.
> 
> Head's up that I have a con this weekend so while I would like to maintain my semi-regular schedule and post Friday, it might be skipped and/or delayed.


	13. Part I | Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breadsticks, a kiss, and a vampire slaying: not necessarily in that order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALA was amazing, and now it's back to reality. Here's a long chapter to hopefully make up for the week with no updates.
> 
> There is a content warning for this chapter to do with neck injuries, see the end notes for more detail.

Trevor wakes up to the vibration of his phone on the bedside table.

“Sorry,” Sypha whispers. “It was just me. Go back to sleep.”

Trevor rolls over and grabs his phone anyway, swiping away the notification _(sbelnades@hawthorne.edu | 6:38 AM | Students, class is cancelled tod…)_

He looks up at Sypha, who’s moved into a partially sitting position. Adrian’s arm is slung over her waist. “How are you feeling?” he whispers back.

“Tired. Sore. Hungry. In that order.”

Trevor smiles slightly. “Sleep more, then.” Sypha looks like she’s ready to argue, but Trevor just shakes his head before she can say a word. “It’s not even seven yet, Sypha. You already cancelled class. Just let yourself relax for a few hours. We’ll deal with everything later.”

When she still doesn’t look convinced, he reaches out of the warm nest they’ve made to thread his fingers through hers. “That vampire can’t do anything in the day,” he reminds her. “We have time.”

Finally, Sypha nods and scoots back down to curl up beside him. Still sleep-soft, Trevor reaches out and wraps one arm around her waist. Sypha sighs and he feels the way her shoulders relax against him.

“In the morning,” he repeats, an already half-asleep mumble.

“It’s already the morning,” Sypha points out; but still her breathing begins to ease.

“Later,” he whispers. They sleep.

* * *

When they wake up hours later, they’re missing their third.

Trevor doesn’t think he ever wants to get up, and he wonders where Adrian disappeared to and if there’s any way he can get him back.

Humming from the kitchen answers that question.

He feels Sypha shift under his arm as she wakes, too, feeling around for Adrian on her other side and coming up empty. “Mmph,” she says succinctly.

“Agreed,” Trevor says.

When they finally muster the energy to get out of bed and stumble into the kitchen, Adrian is standing at the stove making— “Bacon?” Trevor says. He can already feel his mouth starting to water. “Are you making bacon? Because I definitely didn’t have that before.”

“I ran down to the store,” Adrian says. Trevor glances at the time on the stove— 11:32 AM blinks at him, and Trevor is utterly unconcerned that he’s already missed one class today and looking to miss another. “I’m making bacon and eggs. I figured we could both use the meal, Sypha.”

Sypha grunts in acknowledgment and ventures immediately to Trevor’s coffeepot to get it running.

“I’m going to go back to work today and begin researching the warehouse district,” Adrian says as he shuts off the stove and starts preparing three plates for them. “I’ll see which warehouse owners are public record and we can work from there. Sypha, how is your studying going?”

With Sypha’s back still turned to them, Trevor sees the way Sypha’s shoulders tense up.

“Fine,” Sypha says before he can think too much of it. “It’s going fine. It would be easier if I had more than two books, though.”

Adrian hums thoughtfully. He carries all three plates to Trevor’s table and sets them down while Trevor grabs the silverware for them. “The Belmont estate would have all the information you’re looking for,” he says.

Something about his tone of voice catches Trevor’s attention. “We’re not going back to Romania,” he vetoes without Adrian having to say another word.

Adrian smiles thinly. “Very well. I have the utmost confidence in your abilities, Sypha. It would be beneficial, but you can do it without.”

Sypha’s still focused on the coffee: pulling down mugs and hunting through Trevor’s fridge for creamer and cabinets for sugar. “Thank you,” she says, only then turning around to face them.

He _knows_ something is off about her voice and figures Adrian can hear it, too. But Sypha doesn’t say anything and comes over to drop into one of the chairs and Trevor lets the subject drop.

“I will unfortunately not be able to stay as long today,” Adrian says. Trevor watches the way the man cuts so delicately into his eggs. Who the fuck uses a knife with their eggs, anyway?

Sypha picks at her eggs in contrast, leaning her temple against her fist. She looks lost in thought.

“Sypha?” Trevor presses. He nudges her foot gently under the table.

“Hm?” she looks up, glancing at Trevor, then Adrian. “Oh, sorry, I was just…” she trails off before shaking her head. “Adrian?”

Adrian sets his knife and fork down and looks at her. “Yes, Sypha?”

“Why weren’t we something before?”

Adrian lets out a startled breath. “I’m sorry?”

“The three of us. I think it’s pretty clear that there is something between us. I’m tired of trying to ignore it when it’s so obvious. And you told me Trevor and I were married in the past, and that was it! But I— I have these _dreams_ , and I think, how could I have not felt like _this_ when I knew you before?”

“I—” he looks completely lost and unsure how to respond, glancing between Trevor and Sypha with wide eyes.

Trevor takes pity on him. “Sypha,” he says softly. “Leave it be.”

“No!” she presses. “I just— I want an answer. That’s all. _Please_. If you don’t feel the same way, if I’ve been thinking there was more there than there really was, or—”

 _“No,”_ Adrian says immediately and emphatically. He stands quickly, walking around to Sypha’s side so he can kneel before her. “You—” he starts. Shakes his head. “You and Trevor… saved my life. Truly and genuinely. Without you, I wouldn’t have been able to stop my father from destroying humanity, but I— I wouldn’t have rediscovered my own humanity, either. After my mother died it was as if I’d forgotten what it was to be happy.” He touches Sypha’s ankle with delicate fingers and looks from her to Trevor, desperate for understanding. “The two of you reminded me. But… you and Trevor were in love. There wasn’t room for me in that.”

Sypha brings a hand to her mouth as he bows his head to her, hair falling in his face. “Adrian…” She glances at Trevor, then back to Adrian, and Trevor watches the set of her brow as she comes to a decision.

Sypha reaches down, grips Adrian’s jaw on either side, and pulls him up into a kiss.

Trevor hears the small gasp he makes, sees the way Adrian’s eyes widen then fall shut as he leans in closer. He reaches out for her, too, gripping the front of her shirt and just tries to pull her closer.

“I’m sorry,” Sypha gasps out between kisses, but Adrian just shakes his head.

“No, _I’m_ sorry, I’m sorry…”

Trevor stands. It catches Adrian and Sypha’s attention, and they both look at him like they’re scared he’s about to run off but he surprises them both because of course he does, he always does.

Trevor crouches beside Adrian and reaches out to touch his hair, brushing it out of his face. Adrian follows his every movement with his eyes, and Trevor sees that they’re wet, though he doesn’t cry.

“Adrian,” he says quietly. “I don’t know _why_ the people you knew before didn’t want this, but we—” he looks to Sypha. “We’re not them. _We_ want you.” And he kisses him.

* * *

Unfortunately, reality returns to them. Trevor has class and Sypha has a shift at the Coffee House and, more importantly (in Trevor’s opinion), Adrian has his work at the museum to do. He remains coy about whether the police have followed up with him at all, and Trevor suspects it’s out of a desire to protect them from feeling guilty if he ends up in trouble.

“Keep us updated?” Sypha makes Adrian promise as they head out the door together.

“I will.”

Trevor gets to kiss both of them as they leave and it eases a buzzing under his skin that he hadn’t even noticed before. Sypha and Adrian’s lips are both red and plump, and he suspects his don’t look that much better.

He finishes his last class at three and immediately checks his phone for an update from Adrian, but there’s nothing. He tries not to be too disappointed when he knows how busy the other man is.

He heads to the House for lack of anything better to do, with the intention of working on his readings for class until Sypha’s off work. He figures they can head to Adrian afterwards, maybe get something to eat before they figure out their next steps. He wonders if Adrian has found any promising leads. He always wonders how long until Adrian is willing to take his blood again.

“Hey!” Sypha says as she drops into one of the empty chairs at his table around four and unties her apron. “I’m on break. One of the other girls called out sick so I’m going to be closing, sorry.”

Trevor does his best to hide his disappointment. “It’s fine,” he tells her. “It happens. Have you heard anything from Adrian?”

But Sypha shakes her head no. “He’s probably so deep in his research he doesn’t even realize how much time has past. Maybe you should go visit him and make sure he’s eating properly.”

“I don’t think that’s as big of a concern for him,” he points out wryly.

Sypha kicks him gently. “Shut up, I stand by what I said.”

Trevor rolls his eyes but concedes. “Okay, okay, it’s not a bad idea. I’ll go when you’re off break, okay?”

Sypha beams at him. He sees the way she looks like she’s about to lean over and kiss him before she remembers where they are and stops herself, clearing her throat. “I should— go,” she says awkwardly.

“You don’t have—” Trevor starts, but she’s already up.

“I brought one of Adrian’s books, I have it in the back,” she tells him over her shoulder. “I’m going to keep working on it for a bit.”

And Trevor can’t exactly argue with that. He knows they’ll have to talk about the kiss eventually, but he’ll put it off as long as he can.

So with Sypha spoken for for the evening, he figures he might as well head out to find Adrian now. He texts the man as he heads out of the shop, warning him that he’ll be there in ten and he’d better be ready to take a break and get something to eat.

Adrian replies when he’s a block away from the museum.

From: Big Bad Vampire 🧛♂️ | 4:41 PM  
_Very well. How does Italian sound?_

To: Big Bad Vampire 🧛♂️ | 4:42 PM  
_Good w me. Come outside._

He jogs up the steps and paces right outside the entrance to wait for Adrian, offering an awkward “hi,” when the security guard at the door eyes him. It’s a different guy from the other night, and Trevor wonders how that guy is doing.

Luckily, he only has to withstand the guard’s stink eye for a couple minutes before Adrian comes out.

“Afternoon, Jason,” Adrian says as he passes the guard. He inclines his head in the man’s direction, and Jason nods back as Adrian slips his arm through Trevor’s.

“Come to rescue me?” he says with that lilt in his voice that Trevor is coming to love to catch.

“Sypha and I both figured you could use the break.”

Adrian hums. “You’re probably right.”

“Have you found anything promising, yet?”

Trevor feels Adrian still before he answers. He turns to look at the man, but Adrian is looking elsewhere; he turns in that direction to see the woman from the other night walking up the stairs in their direction— the curator. He tries to remember her name.

“Adrian!” she calls, and _oh god she’s coming over here._ “And Trevor, right?”

 _Fuck._ Well now she’s said his name and asserted her dominance.

“Hello, Jenny,” Adrian greets because God has mercy on Trevor’s soul. “I thought you’d gone home for the evening.”

Jennifer laughs. “No, unfortunately not. I had to run a few errands but I’m back for the next few hours. What about you? Are you heading out so early? That’s not like you.”

Adrian smiles. “Just going for dinner, then I’ll be back to burn the midnight oil. I have quite a bit of work I have to finish up.”

She laughs again. “Alright, I’ll see you in a bit, then. Enjoy, boys.”

“Are the two of you close?” Trevor asks as they reach the bottom of the stairs.

Adrian hums thoughtfully. “Close?” he repeats. “I suppose so. Jennifer has put the effort into reaching out to me that most don’t.”

Trevor raises an eyebrow, giving Adrian a skeptical look.

Adrian rolls his eyes. “Don’t look at me like that, it’s true. Go on and tell me your instincts weren’t telling you to run the first time we met.”

“I thought I was just weird.”

Adrian chuckles, ducking his head so his face is hidden behind his hair. “Perhaps so. I’m sure generations of training have instilled that instinct in you, regardless of training. But it happens with all humans, to one degree or another. After all, all life is trained to recognize when it is in the presence of its predator.”

Trevor actually shoves his shoulder at that. “Okay, you melodramatic shit. So she didn’t freak out at the sight of you alone?”

Adrian is still smiling. “Not as such, no. She has been valiant in her attempts to make me work less, and invited me out to drinks several times now.”

Trevor thinks about that, and reads between the lines of what Adrian’s not saying. He suspects that if he were to ask, Adrian would admit to being something of a workaholic. Trevor thinks of his hotel room, devoid of life, and his office, brimming with it. He wonders if Adrian had anything at all other than the exhibit to keep him company.

It makes him think of Mitch, too; and _that_ he gets.

“Well you’re getting out now,” he says eventually. “I’m sure she’s happy about that.” Adrian hums again, but Trevor continues on, undeterred. “Anyway, Italian. The garlic’s not going to—y’know—” he makes a weird noise. “—you, right?”

Adrian gives him an unimpressed looked. “What on earth was that noise supposed to be?”

“Y’know, like—” And this time he maims a slit throat.

Adrian snorts. “No, that one is just a superstition.”

Trevor nods. “Good, good. I’d hate if I had to stop eating it. Y’know, so I could—”

“Yes, I know what you meant.” Adrian rolls his eyes, but Trevor can see him trying to hide a smile as he turns his head away. The rest of the walk is quiet, and Trevor waits until they’re seated inside to touch on the more pressing issue.

“So what have you found so far?” Adrian sighs, which tells Trevor everything he needs to know. “That bad, huh?”

“First and foremost, I do have real work that’s been falling to the wayside that I am now being pressed to finish. Especially with my father’s ashes going missing, there’s an insurance broker investigating us for fraud before they’ll agree to pay out. Not that I’m overly concerned with that, but it does mean more paperwork and having to speak with the man they’ve sent out several times now.

“But to your point: nothing yet. I will say, I mapped out the locations of all the disappearances and they _are_ fairly close to the warehouse district so I do believe I am on the right track.”

“Any leads on who our inside man could be at the museum?”

Adrian hesitates for just a moment before he answers. “No.”

“What was that?”

“What?”

“You hesitated.”

“I did not.”

“You _did!”_

Adrian rolls his eyes. “I won’t debate this with you like a child. If I truly suspect someone, I will let you know.”

“Hm.” Trevor brandishes half of a breadstick like a knife. The rest is in his mouth. “I’m holding you to that,” he says with his mouth full.

“Child,” Adrian reiterates.

They both go quiet though, as Trevor picks at the half of the breadstick that’s left and pulls it apart piece by piece to give his hands something to do.

“What is it?” Adrian asks after a beat of silence. “That’s your thinking face.”

“It’s not this,” Trevor says. “Not directly, anyway. I’ve just been thinking about everything you’ve said about the Belmont clan. That we’re some great vampire hunting house, but that’s—I don’t see how it’s possible, how I didn’t have a fucking clue about any of it.”

“Forgive me if this is insensitive, but how old were you when your parents died?”

“‘Round six or seven when they died. ‘Bout thirteen when my aunt died and I was sent to an orphanage.”

Adrian nods. “I suppose it’s entirely possible they didn’t want to tell you until you were older, and then died before they had a chance.”

Trevor shrugs. Maybe Adrian’s right, but his parents—they certainly hadn’t seemed like deadly hunters of the supernatural to him. They’d seemed like normal people. He’s quiet for a few seconds before he speaks up again. “I… _do_ want to go back home eventually. See if you’re right, and there’s some secret double life my family led.”

“I would like to go with you, if you’re amenable to that.”

Trevor smiles gently at him. “I’d like that.”

* * *

They don’t linger for long at the restaurant since Adrian is eager to get back to his office. Trevor offers to stay and help, but Adrian gives him a wry look and tells him that, much as it’s appreciated, at this point he has a system and Trevor will only get in the way.

“Ouch,” Trevor says.

So he leaves. With nothing else to do, Trevor goes home and passes out despite how early it is. He does stand in front of the fridge when he gets home, contemplating, but in the end he closes it without opening the new six-pack in there. Sypha would probably call it a victory, but that would imply that Trevor has a problem he doesn’t have.

He wakes up to a text from Adrian at eleven pm.

From: Big Bad Vampire 🧛♂️ | 11:09 PM  
_Emergency museum_

Trevor has the sheets thrown off and is pulling his shoes on before he even stops to think. He only pauses long enough to pull a sweatshirt on and grab his whip; he’s sure whatever emergency is happening is something that will need it.

He’s so caught up in getting to Adrian as quickly as possible that it takes him a full block to realize he’s being followed.

Trevor freezes on the sidewalk. He sticks one hand in his sweatshirt pocket and grips the base of his whip as he turns his head slightly to track the sound.

It’s _groaning_ , he realizes after a second. Groaning and shuffling. And under that, a quiet sound, something that’s trying to remain masked by the louder noises. A second person?

The groaning gets louder. Trevor’s shoulders tense and his stance widens and he spins quickly around, coming face to face with—

Vampire.

His eyes widen and he ducks quickly out of the way when he sees the fangs and the way it swings out with its claws. It’s not the woman, and also it seems—different.

Trevor spins out and away from its arm’s reach and narrows his eyes at the creature. It is different, he thinks, watching its slow reaction to his movements and the empty stare it gives him. Trevor doesn’t know if vampires count as _living_ in the true sense of the word, but whatever this thing is he doubts it could even claim the half-life that vampires have.

“Who are you?” he says anyway. No answer. “ _What_ are you?”

Still nothing. The creature stares at him with unblinking eyes and lunges forward.

The whip _cracks_ , loud and crystal-clear in the quiet of the night, and its aim is true. The whip lashes across the vampire’s chest and the creature makes a strange choking, gasping sound but it doesn’t even flinch when Trevor _knows_ the wound has to hurt. He can see the way it bubbles the skin around the edges of the laceration and remembers what Adrian said:

Consecrated.

Still, the vampire swipes at him again, relentless.

Trevor grunts and cracks the whip again. He misses this time and the tip hits the wall to his left and in the time it takes to breathe the vampire’s on him, grabbing him by the shoulders and thrusting him against the wall and sinking his fangs into the meat of his shoulder.

 _“Sorry,”_ he grunts, shoving both hands up and between the two of them.

Both hands wrapped around the whip.

 _“I’m already— spoken for—”_ he continues, pulling the whip taut on either side and pressing into the vampire’s throat with all his strength.

The vampire lets out that same gasping, gurgling sound as the whip sears itself into the thin skin of its neck, and it releases Trevor’s shoulder. He seizes the opportunity and uses that split second to wrap his whip around its neck once, twice.

He pulls the whip tight in either direction, and kicks out with everything he has.

Its body tries to follow the momentum, but its head and neck are held firmly in place by the whip with nowhere to go.

It chokes and Trevor watches from uncomfortably close as its eyes bulge out of its head and it thrashes for only a moment before, with one final disgusting squelch, the vampire’s head makes an obscene _pop_ and hits the ground. His whip reverberates from the sudden lack of resistance.

“Eugh,” he says. There’s vampire guts on his whip, pieces of skin that have been seared into it.

And then he hears that sound again: the sound of boot steps that had been masked by the vampire before. Trevor’s jerks upright into a standing position from where he’d bent over to examine the vampire and looks quickly around.

“Show yourself, arsehole!”

Everything’s still for a moment…two…

Trevor doesn’t let his guard down, and it means that he spots the guy the second he tries to move out of his peripheral vision.

The man bolts the second he’s spotted; Trevor follows a beat later. His phone buzzes in his pocket, but he has more important things to worry about.

The man runs fast; faster than Trevor, but not fast enough to get any substantial lead. Trevor cracks his whip, once, and it catches the man on his back. He stumbles as his shirt is ripped, but the whip doesn’t burn into his skin at all.

A human? Trevor narrows his eyes. It has to be one of the people working with the vampire, then.

Trevor’s entire focus funnels down onto the man and he puts on a burst of speed. His phone buzzes again.

The man makes a sharp right into an alleyway, sprinting for the gate at the back and taking a leap at it that gets him halfway up the chain link before he even starts to climb.

Trevor feels the whole chain link fence rattle as he slams into it, shoving his feet into the bottom row in an attempt to make it up the fence faster—but there’s no way that’s happening, he realizes quickly.

The guy leaps for a fire escape to the left the second it’s within reach; and the second he does he’s _gone_ , spiriting up the ladder so quickly that Trevor has no hope of following before he’s up and over the roof. But impossible odds haven’t stopped him before, and they’re not going to now.

His phone buzzes again.

Trevor pulls it out and answers without even looking at the screen.

 _“I’m a little busy!”_ he snaps at the person on the other line as he makes it to the top of the fence.

 _“Trevor,”_ Adrian gasps.

His grip slackens. “Adrian? Are you alright?”

 _“I’m fine,”_ he says, but he sounds winded and out-of-sorts. _“I’m— a vampire somehow ended up in the museum. It was— I took care of it, but it—”_

“Was there something off about it?”

_“Yes, it was—it seemed to lack sentience; how did you—?”_

Trevor sighs and looks up at the sky, but his target is long gone. He hears nothing now. “One of ‘em just came after me. Actually, it’s more accurate to say someone sic’d it on me.”

 _“One of our thieves,”_ Adrian says. It’s not a question.

“Yeah,” Trevor agrees. “The guy.”

_“The vampire was watching me. Kisa. She… spoke to me before unleashing her pet on me. Left before I could get anything out of her.”_

Trevor grunts and jumps off the fence once its clear he won’t be giving chase any farther. “Yeah. That bastard was watching me, too. Bolted as soon as I killed his vampire. I tried to chase him, but I lost him.”

He kicks the fence in frustration. “ _Fuck!_ Our best lead and I blew it!”

 _“It’s alright,”_ Adrian soothes. _“Have you heard from Sypha?”_

And Trevor feels his blood turn to ice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: A vampire attacks Trevor and he uses his whip to choke it, and in true Castlevania style its head pops off.
> 
> Skip from the paragraph that starts "I'm already spoken for" and start again at "Eugh," if you would like to avoid it.
> 
> \--
> 
> Anyway, this chapter is something of a rollercoaster. But most importantly: their first kiss! Also, can we talk about Adrian's name in Trevor's phone? I thought it was inspired, my wife said Trevor needed to "stop being horny on main."


	14. Part I | Chapter 14

He hangs up without saying a word to Adrian and quickly dials her number, but the phone just rings and goes to voicemail.

_“Fuck!”_

He bolts back in the direction he’d come from, never slowing his pace even as his lungs start to burn. He’s not exactly the most fit guy in the world, up until recently too depressed and too drunk to try and work out; it doesn’t matter right now, though; right now he just has to get to Sypha.

He prays she’s at The Coffee House, safe and closing up shop for the night; but he knows the moment he sees the broken glass on the street that he was right.

 _“Sypha!”_ he bellows as he jumps over the jagged glass at the bottom of the window frame, zeroing in on the vampire that’s pounding fruitlessly against the employee’s only door.

Trevor evaluates in a split second: the way the vampire turns around when it hears him. The way it’s slow to react to his presence, until it realizes that this means new, easier prey to reach. It launches itself at Trevor—or tries to, anyway. The employee’s only door slams open before it can move and bats the creature to the side. It’s not enough to knock it to the ground, but it throws it off-balance, and Sypha uses the opportunity to hop the counter.

“Boy am I glad to see you!” she laughs as they press up back-to-back. She grabs hold of one of the chairs that had been flipped up onto a table at closing and brandishes it like a weapon. “Over here, tough guy!” she hollers at the creature.

The vampire’s recovered now, and it locks eyes on both of them before it launches itself over the counter at them.

His whip is already unfurled and ready for the creature, though. He cracks it overhead and brings it down in a high arc against its shoulder, and it makes a quiet shriek but doesn’t stop its relentless pursuit—

And Sypha responds by slamming the whole weight of her wooden chair into its core.

The chair breaks in Sypha’s hands and the vampire flops to the ground and rolls twice before landing face down. It’s almost funny to watch, especially when the vampire doesn’t immediately move.

Sypha pants and shares a glance with Trevor, pushing her hair out of her eyes where it’s fallen in the scuffle.

“You okay?” Trevor asks.

Sypha nods. “You?”

He laughs a little, sounding lively but just as winded as her. “Yeah!”

The vampire moans and climbs to its feet, staggering at first before it finds its footing. It fucking _roars_ and sprints at Sypha, head down low in a bull rush.

Trevor doesn’t think, just shoves Sypha as hard as he can and darts to the other side of the vampire. Sypha hits the counter, but he doesn’t have time to feel guilty when the vampire crashes into the table they’d just been standing in front of. It shoves off the table in one fluid motion and swipes out to seize Sypha in its claws, but this time Trevor’s ready.

He spins the whip once, twice in the air and uses that momentum to lasso its feet. The vampire crashes to the ground, squirming and clawing at the ground in a desperate bid for Sypha.

Sypha doesn’t even hesitate: she stands up and takes two steps closer before crouching over the vampire. It takes a swipe at her, but it’s already too late.

She thrusts the broken chair leg into its chest.

The vampire gurgles and tries to claw at her again, but it goes quick. Sypha keeps all her weight on the makeshift stake anyway, shoving it in just a little bit further.

Its hands hit the ground with a muffled thump and then the only sound in the destroyed coffee shop is their heavy panting.

“Sypha,” Trevor says softly when she doesn’t climb off its bleeding chest. “It’s alright. It’s dead now.”

She jerks her head up with wide eyes and Trevor sees that the vampire managed to get a swipe at her after all: four bright read slashes run across her cheek, and she’s—

Shaking.

Trevor drops to his knees beside her and wraps his arm over her shoulder to help her off its body.

“I couldn’t do magic,” she mutters as she tries to sort through the attack in her mind. Trevor pulls off his sweatshirt and does his best to get it over her head. She doesn’t resist him, but she does little to help. “I told Adrian that I—that I could learn how to do it but I _can’t_. I—” the sound of crunching glass catches both of their attention’s and Trevor tenses, but it’s just Adrian, stepping into the light of the coffee shop. He barely spares a glance for the place, his gaze so wholly focused on Sypha.

“Sypha,” he says, voice quiet. He keeps both his hands in full view of her. “Are you alright?”

“The window shattered,” she says, shaking her head, “and that _thing_ came in and—” her eyes widen “—Tyler!” She tries to stand and look back behind the counter, but Trevor grabs her shoulder’s and eases her back down. “He— the vampire grabbed him and he passed out. I—” she laughs; a wet, hiccuping sound. “I couldn’t do magic so I threw a blender at it and barricaded Tyler in the back with me.”

“Sypha,” Adrian says. He keeps his voice even and calm. “You did very well. You didn’t need magic for that.”

“But I—”

He hushes her gently. “May I touch you?”

It seems to take Sypha a second to process the question before she nods. “But—Tyler…”

“It’s alright,” Adrian assures her as he reaches out to gently grip her shoulders. “We’ll check on him, but first I want to make sure you’re alright.”

“I’m not hurt,” she says, which is… not an answer to the question.

Adrian doesn’t call her on it, though. “That’s good,” is all he says.

“I can’t use magic,” she says again, apropos of nothing. “With Trevor—it was like you gave him his whip and he just knew what to do with it, but you’ve given me these books and I have these memories and it’s not. Enough.” Trevor watches as her shock gives way to anger on her face and she balls her hands into fists. “I can’t do it. Your Sypha was a powerful magician, not me. But you need me to be able to use magic if I’m to help you!”

“Sypha,” Adrian says again. He brings his hands up to cup her face and hold her gently there. “There is no you versus her. She is not a litmus by which you have to measure yourself. Your worth to me is not based on your ability to use magic or the degree to which you are or are not like her, and I’m sorry if anything on my part has led you to believe that was so. You are more than your magic.” Sypha lets out a small breath and looks down, but Adrian gives her a gentle shake and continues on. “And to your point, the physical expertise required of Trevor and the spiritual and mental expertise required of you are hardly comparable. No offense, Trevor.”

Trevor shrugs and hops the counter to grab Sypha’s co-worker. “None taken.”

“You could study magic for the rest of your life and there would still be more for you to learn. That doesn’t make you a failure. And if you decide you don’t wish to study magic any further, that’s your choice. But I think it would be the wrong one— I think you will find the enrichment magic brings to your life well worth it.”

Sypha sniffs. Trevor returns to their side with her unconscious co-worker slung over his shoulder, no more than a day over eighteen if that, and Sypha curled into Adrian.

“Thank you,” she murmurs against his chest.

Adrian smiles softly and slowly begins to pet her hair.

* * *

 They can’t waste any more time, so they have to turn their conversation to what they’re going to do from there before some passerby sees the broken storefront, or Sypha’s co-worker wakes up.

“I can’t just leave,” Sypha says. “It’ll look like I was kidnapped.”

“We should dispose of the body. Trevor’s, as well, if it hasn’t been discovered yet. It will raise too many questions if we leave him as is.”

Sypha rubs her forehead. “I’ll have to call the police and tell them I scared the guy off with a blender.”

Trevor and Adrian both chuckle at that, though they all sound equally tired now and it lacks much feeling behind it.

So they design a plan like that: Trevor and Adrian will deal with the evidence and Sypha will deal with the police.

“Are there security cameras here?”

Sypha shakes her head. “Mr. Maisel— the owner— he keeps a camera in the corner to scare off anyone thinking about it, but it doesn’t actually work.”

“That works in our favor, then. Trevor, let’s go.”

Trevor nods and hoists the dead vampire over his shoulder; Sypha waits until they’re out of sight before she calls the police.

* * *

 “This certainly isn’t how I pictured my life going,” Trevor says later as they shove three bodies into the trunk of Adrian’s car. Two of the three are unfamiliar to Trevor, but the bloody and matted white hair of the third strikes him, somehow. He stares at the body in the trunk before Adrian closes it forcibly.

“Let’s go,” he says plainly, focused on the task at hand.

They drive two hours outside of the city before they find somewhere remote enough to light a pyre. Adrian stares into the fire and thinks for a moment he can hear the shrieking of damned souls escaping to the sky.

“You’re a Belmont,” he says. “You’ll have to get used to it.”

“What?”

“Earlier. You said this wasn’t how you pictured your life going, but this is how it will be from this point on.”

“I wasn’t complaining.” They both go silent as Trevor glances at Adrian, but the other man is still focused on the fire.

“Adrian,” he starts after a beat. “The vampire you faced tonight…”

“You recognized her.”

Trevor nods. “I think so. Who was she?”

“…Her name was Carmilla. I fought her years ago—we all did. But she died, I witnessed it myself.”

That causes a flash of… _something_ , there and gone too quick for Trevor to parse.

“Do you remember anything of her?” Adrian asks curiously.

Trevor shakes his head like he’s dispelling a hazy memory of the name. “I don’t know. Maybe. But it doesn’t matter right now. What do you think it means—that you saw her tonight?”

The pyre begins to go out, flaring quick and hot and then burning out just as fast. Adrian grabs a bucket of water to aid with the process once he’s sure the evidence is gone. “I think it means they’re getting closer to their goal. Kisa taunted me with it and implied that they’d gone out of their way to find Carmilla’s remains. Like they wanted to use her to throw me off my game. They don’t just know I’m a vampire, they know who I am.

“And, more to the point: this means they’ve managed to figure out the physical aspects of resurrection.”

“But not the rest of it,” Trevor finishes. “That’s why they didn’t seem—all there.”

Adrian nods. “She seemed to lack sentience, like all she could do was attack in some desperate bid for blood. She bore me no recognition, and possessed none of the intelligence I knew her for. I don’t even think she was capable of speech. Nor did they have the true strength typical of our kind.”

“Like—zombie vampires!” Trevor cracks. When Adrian just gives him an unimpressed look, Trevor pouts a little. “Sypha would have laughed,” he mutters under his breath.

Adrian rolls his eyes.

“The point is, they’re getting close to true resurrection. We have to stop them before that happens.”

Trevor looks down as the full weight of the situation presses itself upon him.

“...Every one of those vampires was a result of human sacrifice, wasn’t it?”

Adrian bows his head. “Yes, I believe so.”

Trevor’s hand goes to his whip; but there’s some things you can’t solve with brute strength.

* * *

 

The drive back to the city is mostly silent, both of them lost in their heads.

When they finally get back to Trevor’s apartment complex, he pulls up to the front like he’s just going to drop Trevor off before Trevor gives him an incredulous look.

“Stay here, tonight,” he says like it’s obvious; because it is.

Adrian doesn’t even have the strength to protest, just finds somewhere to park and follows Trevor upstairs in silence.

Sypha is sitting outside his door when they get off the elevator, her legs pulled up to her chest and her head down. She’s still wearing his sweatshirt, Trevor notices.

“Sypha,” he says. He crouches down beside her, reaching one hand out to touch her shoulder.

Sypha startles awake and looks up between the two of them. “What time is it?” she mumbles.

Trevor smiles slightly and brushes her hair out of her face. “Almost four. Come on, let’s get inside where it’s warmer, and you can sleep.”

Sypha nods and pushes off the ground while Trevor unlocks the door to his apartment. It almost seems a routine by this point, as Sypha makes a beeline for his room and throws herself on the bed. She barely toes her shoes off before she face plants on the mattress.

Trevor and Adrian are quick to join her. This time Trevor takes up the middle spot, and together they’re quick to fall asleep, Adrian curled into his side and Sypha’s arm loped over his waist.

* * *

_Trevor dreams of Carmilla, a cruel and vicious woman._

_She seeks to grow her influence in the power vacuum that Dracula’s death creates, capturing one of Dracula’s forgemasters and forcing him to work for her._

_The man sends word to Alucard through one of his demons, and it’s one of the weirder conversations Trevor’s had in his life._

_“Do you know this Hector?” Trevor asks when the demon asks if they will help._

_Alucard shakes his head. “No,” he says. “But I know Carmilla. And a forgemaster forced to work for Carmilla is a bad thing indeed. I will help.”_

_“We will help,” Sypha corrects him. She steps forward and takes Alucard’s hand in her own and glances back at Trevor. “We’re with you.”_

_So they follow the demon in search of its master. Alucard tells them stories of Carmilla’s cruelty in the interim, mostly stories he’d heard from his father after his own singular meeting with her. “My mother was furious and forbade my father from inviting her into the castle as long as we were there.”_

_They find Hector two weeks later, shoved in the deepest pits of Carmilla’s castle to build her an army. He looks thin and exhausted, barely allowed to eat and never allowed to rest as long Carmilla still calls for more._

_Her armies are two-fold: the demons Hector has created, and her fellow vampires._

_But, Hector’s demon promises: Carmilla’s demons are only so loyal to her as Hector commands. Once they begin to fight the demons will attack Carmilla’s vampire dogs._

_It’s a big gamble, but one they have to make, if the other alternative is letting Carmilla reign free._

_Sypha seizes control of the elements of Carmilla’s home turf in a terrifying, grandiose display: calling forth a great blizzard of snow that envelopes the castle and freezes every guard in their path. Once inside, the three of them dispatch the remaining guards ruthlessly and efficiently, splitting off from one another just as they had in Dracula’s castle the first time._

_Still, they keep an awareness of one another the entire time they fight. Sypha erects a wall of fire when she sees two guards flanking Trevor. Heat licks at his back as he turns just long enough to wink at her and call his thanks._

_Another guard manages to get Alucard on his back and raises her staff high to stab through his heart— and Trevor throws out his Morning Star, wrapping it around the staff and yanking it out of her grasp and tossing it behind himself before he spins Morning Star twice in the air and curls it around the guard’s legs. It wraps once, twice, three times before Trevor yanks and pulls her feet out from under her._

_Alucard takes the opportunity to kick aside her helmet and force his sword down through the top of her head._

_The tides begin to turn in their favor, and just as promised Hector’s demons turn on Carmilla the second she tries to run. They launch themselves through the air, landing in front of the door and blocking her only path to escape._

_Large icicles erupt from the ground around Carmilla’s feet at Sypha’s bidding. They pin her in place so she can’t move her hands or head or feet. One of them impales her right wrist and Carmilla shrieks, raging against Sypha to her last breath._

_Hector seizes Trevor’s sword before any of them can do anything, yanking it from its sheath and shoving it into her chest._

_Carmilla falls silent and looks down in shock, eyes wide._

_“Hector,” she says, shocked._

_Hector’s fallen against her, using all his weight to push the sword clean through to the other side._

_“Die, bitch,” he grunts. And Carmilla coughs, gagging on blood._

_Sypha lets the icicles disintegrate and Carmilla falls forward into Hector. She brings both her hands up to wrap around his neck in one last desperate attempt to bring him down with her, trying to dig her nails into his throat._

_Alucard takes two steps forward and decapitates her._

_What was once Carmilla hits the ground with a thump as Hector pulls the sword out of her chest. Her head lands with a squelch, and Sypha makes a face and has to take a step back when the blood begins to leak onto the ground next to her feet. She watches the way blood begins to mat Carmilla’s once white hair._

_Hector touches his cheek where blood has begun to well from the tip of Alucard’s blade, looking at the man in surprise. One of the demons growls at the injury to its master, bristling and ready to launch itself at Alucard, but Hector holds up a hand._

_“It’s alright,” he says. “It was an accident.”_

_They all go quiet, as if waiting for the other party to attack first now that their common enemy is gone._

_“Leave now and I will not attack you,” Hector tells them._

_“We can’t let your demon army roam free, Hector,” Trevor says. He takes a step forward, too. “Give me my sword back.”_

_Hector looks down at the sword in his hands, then back up to Trevor. “Leave now and we will stop hunting the humans of the world. I just. I just want to be left in peace.”_

_The trio exchange uncertain looks, not sure if they can believe them. And Hector seems to sense that. He flips Trevor’s sword down and holds the hilt out to Trevor._

_“A show of faith,” he says._

Trevor takes the sword.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few points of order:
> 
> 1) First and foremost, one of the biggest themes that I'm looking to explore here is the trio's growth as fighters. I love Castlevania or I wouldn't be writing fic for it, but if I were to make a single critique of the show, it's that I wish we could have seen more of the trio _failing_ before they succeed. Which I don't necessarily fault them for when they had so few episodes, but that's why I'm looking to explore it here.
> 
> 2) "Die, bitch," is the single greatest line of my fanfic and I've been excited to post it ever since I first wrote it. I hope you enjoy it as much as I have. It's what Hector deserves.


	15. Part I | Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for a reference to a home invasion in this chapter, more details below.

Adrian’s gone by the time Trevor wakes up. There’s a note on the bedside table tucked under his phone that reads:

_Got up early to continue researching. Will text if I find anything. X_

Sypha moans and rolls over in bed. “What time is it?” she groans.

Trevor glances at his phone. “Almost eleven.”

“Ugh.”

Trevor has to agree. “How did talking with the police go?” he asks as he gets up. He sniffs his shirt, seems to decide it’s fine for another day, and shrugs before he goes to grab his toothbrush from the bathroom and return.

“Horrible. They’re so rude. But, they called Mr. Maisel to come down to the store and he gave me today and tomorrow off.” She rolls over on the bed so she can grab the note that Adrian had left for them, reading it before she sets it back down and sits up. “We should go help him.”

Trevor snorts. “Last I checked he said I’d just get in his way.”

Sypha laughs and rolls her eyes. “That does sound like him, huh? That’s fine, I’m sure he could use the company right now, anyway. If he wants us to leave he’ll tell us.”

“Say,” Trevor starts as he sticks his toothbrush in his mouth, changing the subject. “Have you heard of a woman named Carmilla?”

“Carmilla?” Sypha repeats thoughtfully. Her brow furrows. “I…yes, I think so. The name sounds familiar. She was a vampire, right? She…helped Dracula?”

Trevor nods. Holds up one finger so she’ll hold that thought while he goes back to the bathroom to spit. Sypha follows him. “Yes. She was working with Dracula and then tried to seize control herself when he died. She was killed—”

“By Hector,” Sypha says. She looks surprised she’s said anything at all when the words leave her mouth. “Hector the Forgemaster.”

“Yes,” Trevor confirms. “Apparently that’s who Adrian fought last night.” He recounts his conversation with Adrian from the night before, including his joke (and Sypha _does_ laugh at the idea of zombie vampires, so take _that_ , Adrian).

Sypha hums thoughtfully when he’s done explaining everything. “It sounds like they were trying to throw him off. I guess it makes sense, if they were aiming to kill him last night. I get the feeling Adrian is sentimental like that. Not that he had any positive feelings for Carmilla, but that the act of fighting someone he’d—essentially—left in his past was hard for him. Adrian pushes his past away so he can be logical and objective, but if he’s not prepared or caught off-guard, he gets thrown off.

“I imagine if they succeed in bringing Dracula back, it will be much the same.”

Trevor lets the subject drop, mulling on that. He can’t imagine it was easy killing Dracula the first time, though he only has vague impressions of the fight and no real concrete memories yet—just the ghost of an impression of a scorched childhood bedroom with a broken bed frame and an old family portrait.

They decide to pick up food for Adrian before they head to the museum; but with no immediate rush, they take their time, showering _(separately)_ and making coffee before they head out. Trevor can’t even pretend he hasn’t completely forgotten about school at this point. It just seems so trivial in the face of everything else, and Trevor says as much to Sypha as they leave the apartment.

“I think I know what you mean. Not just everything that’s happened these last few days, but, I…it’s strange. I think I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, but it still hasn’t.”

“How do you mean?”

Sypha crosses her arms over her chest. “I guess it’s that…I feel guilty that I don’t feel guilty, you know? About—this. Whatever this is.”

Trevor can’t help the spark of pleasure that gives him, knowing that she doesn’t regret it.

“Don’t think this means I’ll be going easy on you in class. And I’ll be giving your work to someone else to grade. You’re going to _earn_ your grade, Trevor Belmont.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he dismisses easily.

“Whatever this is—it goes beyond that.” And then she grins cheerily. “But don’t expect me to put out for you anytime soon!” she quips. Trevor chokes as she disappears inside the Chinese restaurant they’d decided on.

Trevor needs a second to recover from that one, and he texts Adrian to ask him what he wants to distract himself as they get in line behind an old man ordering at the counter. Sypha plucks a to-go menu from the counter and steps back to stand beside Trevor, flipping idly through it even though she already knows what she wants.

From: Big Bad Vampire 🧛♂️ | 12:38 PM  
_No food. I think I found something, come now._

Trevor shows the text to Sypha, touching her arm to guide her back out and past the other couple that’s just walked in. “C’mon.”

Luckily, they’re only ten minutes away from the museum, and they try not to run as they make their way there. Adrian is waiting outside when they arrive, so they pick up the pace quickly jog up the steps as soon as they see him.

“Thank you for coming,” he says as he walks them back to his office, pace hurried.

“What did you find?” Trevor asks.

“I’ll explain in a minute,” Adrian says as he opens the door to his office. “Wait here, I have to find someone first.”

They reluctantly do as they’re told. Trevor paces while Sypha drums her fingers on the desk. They both get the bright idea to try and check Adrian’s computer for clues, but the desktop is locked and neither of them are able to guess the password, so Trevor resumes pacing; after a second he pauses, turning his head towards the door.

“What is it?” Sypha hisses at him.

He motions for her to join him, moving closer to the door and pressing his ear against the frame to hear better.

“Miranda!” Adrian’s voice calls out to someone. Trevor mouths the name, ‘Miranda,’ and wonders who that is.

“Adrian!” Another voice, an older woman. “What can I help you with?”

“Have you seen Jennifer around today by chance?”

Their voices grow louder as they approach Adrian’s door. Trevor and Sypha both tense, but they pass the door without stopping and continue down the hall.

“No, she called in sick today. Is it something I can help you with?”

“Does anyone else have keys to the old storage unit?” Adrian asks.

“Goodness!” The woman laughs. “The one downtown? I don’t think I’ve touched that place in a year, probably! No, I think Jennifer has the only set of keys.” Trevor and Sypha share a significant look before the woman continues, the edges of suspicion in her voice. “Why?”

“Oh, she mentioned that there was an old display that might suit my exhibit. It’s alright, it can wait until tomorrow. Thank you.”

Rapid footsteps as Adrian returns to them. Trevor and Sypha both move out of the way so he doesn’t brain either of them upon opening the door. He looks between the two of them urgently and closes the door. “Did you two hear all that?”

Trevor nods. “You think that’s where they are?”

Adrian nods. “I suspect so, yes,” he says, walking around them and back to his desk. He doesn’t even bother to sit down, just jiggles the mouse and begins typing standing up.

“What exactly did you find?” Sypha presses.

Adrian continues typing, hardly sparing a glance at either of them. “As I mentioned previously, I was looking into real estate within the warehouse district, seeing which had owners I could track down. In the process, I found one site that is owned by the museum. It’s an old storage unit.”

Sypha furrows her brow. “Didn’t anyone ever have to use it?”

But Adrian is already shaking his head. “No. It saw more frequent use several years ago, but about a year and a half ago they finished construction on a new building on-site; that’s where they store most exhibits now. The warehouse downtown is primarily used for old exhibits that have been retired but can’t be thrown out, so rarely does anyone have need of it.”

“And Jennifer is the only one with the key,” Trevor supplies.

Adrian finally looks up from what he’s doing, meeting Trevor’s gaze for a moment before he returns to his computer. “Exactly.”

“So you think she’s our thief?”

Adrian nods distractedly, eyes quickly tracking something on his screen. “Yes,” he says. “Either our thief, or assisting the individual who is. The greatest question remains, of course: why? Ah.”

“What? What is it?”

Adrian pushes his monitor so they can both see it: he has several tabs open on his screen, including a search page with Jennifer’s name on it and another page for the local newspaper.

It’s a digital scan of a newspaper article from nearly twenty-five years ago, the background yellowed with age.

“Young girl sole survivor of home invasion,” Trevor reads the headline.

“Eric and Martha Dawson were murdered late last night in a robbery attempt gone wrong,” Sypha picks up from the article, skimming. “Their daughter Alison, 14, was also killed in the attack. Sources say there was a second child, age four, who survived the family by hiding in the basement— that’s horrible.”

Adrian nods, scrolling down to the comments section. “Continue reading,” he says.

Sypha skims the first comment before she moves down to the second. “I still remember when this happened,” she reads aloud, “Little Jenny was barely four at the time. Came knocking on our door crying with blood on her hands. Such a tragedy.”

Sypha looks up. “You think this is her?”

Adrian nods. “And this,” he says, clicking onto a new tab. Another page opens up, this one a web article from 2004.

“Man accused of home invasion acquitted on all charges,” Trevor picks up.

“It’s been a long and tumultuous journey since Michael Johnson was first accused of murdering Eric and Martha Dawson and their daughter Alison over eleven years ago. His first trial was declared a mistrial after jurors were given improper evidence, but this last Friday he was declared not guilty of murder in the second degree.

“Jennifer Dawson, age 15, took the stand against Johnson and was quoted as saying, ‘It’s him. I know it’s him.’ Dawson is the daughter of Eric and Martha, and was present at the time of the murder— Christ.” Trevor looks up. “So what, you think she went through that shit and decided the best way to deal with it was by killing the rest of the human race?”

Adrian shrugs and pushes his monitor back to its normal position. “I don’t know,” he says, sounding distant, and Trevor just knows he’s thinking of his father again. “But some have tried it for less.”

“We should go now, then,” Sypha says definitively.

Adrian looks her over. “You’re sure? You still haven’t gained the use of your magic.”

Sypha nods. “I can do this, Adrian.”

He considers her briefly before he nods. “Very well. If you say you can handle it, I believe you.”

They don’t waste any more time, heading back out to the front of the building where he’d left his car. They’re halfway down the stairs when someone calls out to them.

“Mr. Tepes!” they say. Trevor cringes, because he’d recognize that butchering of Romanian anywhere. He and Sypha share a look as they slowly turn around.

Adrian inclines his head in the direction of the two police officers, cool and collected. “Captain,” he says politely. “Officer. What can I do for you?” Trevor doesn’t recognize either of them, both dressed in uniform rather than the plain clothes detectives he’d encountered himself.

“We just had a few more follow-up questions about your exhibit theft,” the captain tells him.

“Naturally,” Adrian agrees. The two of them eye Trevor up and down and Trevor tries not to bristle. “Would you prefer if we spoke in private?”

They finally look away from Trevor. “No, this is fine,” the captain says. He’s an older man, with one of those hideous mustaches that looks like it came out of the eighties. He glances at Sypha, too, tilting his head to the side and trying to place her. “Sypha, right? You were the girl at the coffee shop.”

Sypha nods. “Yes,” she says cautiously.

“I was unaware you knew Mr. Tepes.”

“She was the woman we spoke to regarding Mr. Tepes’s whereabouts,” the other officer offers before Sypha can respond, taking a step closer to the captain.

Sypha makes a valiant attempt not to cringe at the name. “That’s right,” she says cautiously.

The man hums in thought, likely trying to piece together the robbery of a coffee shop and a museum. Of course no rational person would connect the two, and he seems to drop it for coincidence quickly enough—for the time being, at least. He looks back at Adrian. “And Mr. Tepes, what time did you say you left here the night of the incident?”

“Around eight,” Adrian answers evenly.

“And you were the last person in the building?”

“Other than Peter the security guard, I believe so.”

“And what time did the theft occur?”

“I wouldn’t know, as I wasn’t here.”

The entire time Adrian keeps his voice level and his expression neutral. Trevor turns his head away from the captain and scowls, but it fades when he hears the crackle of the other officer’s walkie talkie and the way he takes a few steps back to answer it without being overheard. It’s clear he knows what he’s doing, because Trevor can’t hear what’s being said over Adrian’s conversation, but he recognizes the way the guy walks back up to them and grabs his captain’s attention.

The captain glances at the younger guy then back to Adrian. “If you can wait right here, I’ll be right back.”

“Of course,” Adrian agrees amiably. He waits until the police officers are halfway down the stairs to their cruiser before he starts moving in the same direction.

“They’re still harassing you?” Trevor grumbles.

“They think I stole my father’s ashes myself for the insurance money. Of course they’re still harassing me, hoping I’ll slip up. They have no way to prove it, though, which bothers them.” He stops a respectable distance away and closes his eyes.

Trevor and Sypha exchange a look. Listening to their conversation? It’s certainly too far for them, but Adrian has much better hearing than the two of them combined.

Adrian nods along to whatever it is they’re saying. “There’s been another disappearance,” he murmurs, filling the other two in. “Late last night, presumably after they came after us—oh.”

“Oh?” Trevor repeats. “‘Oh’, what? I don’t like ‘oh’.” Adrian opens his eyes and looks at Trevor; Trevor doesn’t like what he sees one fucking bit. “Adrian…don’t fucking look at me like that. What is it?”

“The missing person…her name is Michelle D’souza. Owner of The Alley Cat Bar and Club.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: The trio find a relevant news article that talks about a robbery gone wrong that results in the death of a family. There's no sexual assault and it is not described in detail, but it is there after the paragraph that begins "It's a digital scan of a newspaper article..." and ends after the paragraph "Adrian shrugs and pushes his monitor..."
> 
> Jennifer's family was killed in a robbery gone wrong before the man responsible was acquitted of all charges, and the trio theorize this is her motivation now.
> 
> A few other points of note: we're gearing up towards the end of Part I (just one more chapter!), and with it I can tell you that there's approximately 10 - 12 chapters left. I'm hoping to finish writing by the end of this week if I power through it, and then it will just be down to editing (on that note, I had a scare earlier today that the most recent part of the fic that I'd written, and the part that I was _the most_ proud of, was deleted. I managed to get it back, but I swear I saw my life flash before my eyes).
> 
> Enjoy!


	16. Part I | Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> General warnings for Castlevania-level gore this chapter.

Trevor has to take a seat on the steps as Adrian's words settle; Sypha immediately sits down with him. Adrian remains standing, watching the police.

“Trevor,” Adrian cautions.

Trevor forces himself to look up, watching as the two officers start making their way back up the stairs. “...I’ve got it, I’ll be fine,” he says. He takes a deep breath and prepares himself as Sypha reaches out to put her hand on his thigh; he stands up and shakes her off. “Just—give me a minute.” He turns his back on them and starts walking away as the officers return.

“Something else just came up, Mr. Tepes,” the captain says once he’s three steps from them. “If you’ll excuse us, we’ll be back later to discuss this further.”

“Of course,” Adrian demurs. “I’m sure you have more important business to attend to.”

They’re not even halfway down the stairs again before Trevor is back at Adrian’s side, having walked all the way down the stairs then back up again. “Let’s go,” he says gruffly. “If they’re in this storage unit or wherever, we’re taking them down _now.”_

Adrian and Sypha share a look, then look back to Trevor.

“We’re with you,” they promise.

Trevor feels like his whole body is burning. They’ve wasted too much time already, he thinks. He should have—

He should have been there? He should have checked in with her this morning? Instinct has him grappling for responsibility, but the truth of the matter is he’d had no way of knowing something happened to her, and it just makes him feel worse to know that once again, he’d been utterly helpless in the face of something happening to a person he cared about.

His leg starts bouncing up and down the moment they climb into the car, and he drums his fingers on his thigh. Adrian glances over at him out of the corner of his eye.

 _“What,”_ Trevor snaps before he can think better of it.

Adrian doesn’t say anything; but he reaches out and rests his hand on top of Trevor’s. And perhaps it’s not smart of him to do so, but Adrian promises anyway, “we’ll find her.”

Trevor balls his hand into a fist—then relaxes it and flips his hand over for Adrian to take.

“Mitch should be our priority,” Sypha says as she leans forward from the backseat. “I know you want your father’s ashes back—”

“No,” Adrian says immediately. “You’re right.” None of them address the fact that it’s been hours since she went missing.

Trevor can feel Adrian squeezing his hand as they drive, too tight to be a mere offering of comfort. Adrian’s face is blank when Trevor glances at him, and there was a time when he would have said it was emotionless, but not anymore—not when he can see it now, plain as day: the pull at the corners of his mouth as he presses his lips together, and the slight furrow of his brow.

Trevor exhales, and tries to think of someone other than himself for once.

“It’s not your fault, either,” he grumbles after a beat.

Adrian’s grip tightens, then eases, before he pulls his hand away. “Come again?” he says, trying to maintain some bullshit mask of ambivalence that Trevor can read from a mile away.

“Jennifer,” Trevor says. “I remember what you said—that you considered her something of a friend. I’m sorry—I can’t imagine how that feels.”

He watches the way Adrian swallows, eyes never leaving the road. It takes him a long moment to respond. “Yes, well. Sometimes these things just happen.”

Trevor wants to push it, and he can see Sypha in the corner of his eye, looking just the same—but he’s worried about pushing Adrian too hard, not when he needs to be focused, so he lets it drop and changes the subject. “Do you know how the warehouse is set up?” he asks; he has to turn his head away from the angry look Sypha gives him, because he _needs_ this. He needs Adrian, needs to keep moving forward. He’ll be okay; if he can just _save_ someone, _anyone_ he cares about—he’ll be fine.

“I’m afraid not,” Adrian says carefully. “I’ve never actually been there before today. We can scope it out first and formulate a plan of attack.”

The bounce of Trevor’s leg increases in agitation. “They’ve had her all day,” Trevor snaps before he can stop himself. “And you heard what that woman said before—Jennifer took the whole damn day off. Why else would she need to do that?”

“It’s still light out, Trevor.” Trevor looks at Adrian, uncomprehending in his rage. Adrian squeezes his thigh. “Kisa cannot do anything as long as it’s still day. And even if the other two can enact their plans without her, I doubt Jennifer would risk performing a resurrection on my father when it’s still light out.”

“Right, you’re right—I _know_ you’re right, I just—”

“Trevor.” Nothing compares to the way Sypha says his name: carefully caressing, like she can make him safe through sheer force of will. “Trust us.”

So he does.

They spend the rest of the drive in silence. Adrian takes care to park several blocks away, and Trevor and Sypha shed their sweatshirts (both Trevor’s). It’s cold, but the extra fabric will impede their movement too much. Adrian uses the time to retrieve his sword and sheath from the trunk and slip them onto his belt.

Trevor coils his whip in his hands now that he doesn’t have to keep it hidden in his sweatshirt, and glances between the two of them. “Ready?” he asks.

“Just one more thing.” Adrian pulls something else from the trunk of his car, long and black, and unfurls it in the air.

It’s an old leather coat, black with golden accents and soft with age and use. It’s Adrian’s old coat—no. It’s Alucard’s.

He slips on a pair of black gloves to match, and looks between the two of them as he closes the trunk.

“I declared myself Alucard in opposition to my father many years ago. Today, I name myself so again. I am Alucard, and my father will not return to harm this world further.”

“No.”

Trevor and Adrian both look at Sypha in surprise. “No?” Adrian echoes.

Sypha takes a step closer. She reaches out and takes his hand in hers. “You are Adrian Țepeș, so named by Lisa Țepeș. Alucard is part of who you are, but you are more than just your opposition to your father.”

Adrian’s eyes widen. It’s Sypha—it’s always Sypha, if he’s being honest, who seems to know intuitively, how to pull them in and how to pull them back from the darkest parts of themselves when they need it most. And then Trevor reaches out and takes his other hand, too, and his eyes grow even wider.

He squeezes both their hands and nods in determination. “Very well. Let’s go.”

* * *

 The warehouse is nondescript, just one unit in a line of three others.

“Do you hear anything?” Sypha whispers when they’re closer.

Adrian closes his eyes and takes a moment to listen before he shakes his head. “Movement of some sort. There’s definitely people in there, but I can’t make out what they’re doing.”

There’s windows above eye level along the front and back of the warehouse, but they’ve all been completely covered with tarps.

“Likely to protect the exhibits from sun damage, though I’m sure it was another reason Jennifer chose this location,” Adrian comments.

Trevor gets as close to the windows as he can, straining up on tiptoe to get a good look at them before he looks back at Adrian and Sypha. “I don’t think they can open,” he says quietly.

Adrian floats up to examine them more thoroughly as Trevor grumbles on the ground about it being unfair that Adrian can do that— but he’s right, and Adrian says as much. They won’t be sneaking in through the window.

“Wait, I think I hear something.” Adrian puts his hand up to hush Trevor and Sypha as if they weren’t already silent. Silence, and then, loud enough for all three of them to hear—

“Get the fuck off of me, assh— _ach!”_

“That’s Mitch.” Trevor doesn’t let himself so much as stop and think. “I’m going in.”

“Trevor, wait—” Trevor jiggles the handle of the door, but it doesn’t give: locked. He wastes no time, stepping back and bracing himself before he slams the heel of his foot against the door—and promptly lets out a hiss of pain, hopping back on one foot. He recovers quickly and follows it up by throwing his full weight at the door. It groans, but still it doesn’t move.

Adrian puts his hand on Trevor’s shoulder just before he can throw himself at the door again.

 _“Don’t_ tell me to wait, Adrian,” Trevor barks.

“I wouldn’t. Let’s do it together.” Trevor looks surprised, then nods. Then as one, they take two running steps at the door and throw their weight together.

The door gives way; Trevor and Adrian stumble inside at the lack of resistance, and Sypha steps primly through after them.

The light inside is dim from the tarps covering the windows, casting everything in shadows that’s interrupted only by the weak autumn sunlight spilling in through the now broken door. The three of them look around in the split second of silence, but the huge warehouse is a maze: there’s chain link on either side of them and over their heads, leaving only two pathways. Every few yards there’s a door in the chain link, dividing the storage space by exhibit, as far as Sypha can tell.

The whole place hangs silent for just a moment before the sounds of muffled yelling start up again in earnest. Trevor bolts left down the pathway in the direction of the sound. Sypha follows immediately, and Adrian flies after them, quickly matching and then passing them.

And then Adrian reaches the epicenter of the warehouse: the chain link fences end and leave the center of the room empty—or at least it would be, if it weren’t for the the group of four standing in the middle of the room.

Jennifer and Kisa stand together on the other side of the room. Two large ritual circles are drawn on the floor in chalk side by side, the only thing between them and the trio. And there, in the circle to the left, Jennifer and Kisa’s partner stands over a bound and gagged Mitch, tied down to a metal stake that’s been pounded into the ground. The box of Dracula’s ashes sits in the center of the ritual circle on the right.

Trevor and Sypha flank Adrian on either side.

“Adrian,” Jennifer says. “So you figured it out after all.” She sounds—sad isn’t the right word, but disappointed perhaps? “You know, I had no idea who you were when you first showed up—or what you were. Not until Kisa here told me who you were after you tried to stop us that night. _What_ you were. But I still hoped you would stay out of it.”

Mitch jerks at her bonds and screams into the gag in her mouth with rage until the asshole standing over her grabs the gag tied at the back of her head and gives it a hard shake until she chokes.

“Let her go, bastard!” And Trevor throws himself across the room, raising his whip high and lashing out.

“Josiah!”

Adrian looks back up at Jennifer’s cry; she looks scared. And then Kisa is throwing herself at him before he can parse what it means, sword raised. He brings his own sword up to block the swing. His feet skid back an inch from the force of Kisa’s attack as she growls. She pulls back, flipping her sword in an attempt to drive it up under Adrian, but this time he’s ready; he catches her blade with his own and twists away with his whole body. It places him a safe distance away as her sword hits the ground.

Sypha uses the moment to glance between Mitch, Dracula’s ashes, and where Jennifer has turned her back to all of them—she stands at a table, and Sypha can’t see what she’s looking at but she’d bet money that it’s the spell book. She goes for the book as soon as it looks like Trevor has a handle on Josiah.

Trevor coils his whip around Josiah’s legs and pulls taut, ignoring Jennifer’s cry. The bastard falls and cracks his chin on the hard concrete floor. And he’s right in front of Mitch, bound and kneeling on the floor. She twists around to get her feet out from under her and kicks out with both feet. She nails him clean in the face as Trevor drops his whip and rushes to her side and pulls her gag down.

“I don’t know what you’re doing here,” she gasps as soon as it’s out of her mouth, “but I’m fucking glad you are.”

Trevor laughs a little breathlessly. “Hope this explains the black eye,” he jokes. “And the alibi. And—everything.”

Mitch smiles weakly, but it quickly morphs into an expression of horror. “Look out—!”

Trevor doesn’t have a second before his whip is wrapped around his neck and pulled— Trevor chokes, scrambling for purchase at his neck, but it’s too tight and there’s no give. Josiah keeps pulling, so hard that Trevor is pulled backwards before he can regain his footing. The moment he’s close enough he slams his head back into Josiah’s nose. The bastard curses but doesn’t let go—Trevor can feel his vision spotting, and with all his strength he drives his elbow into his stomach.

Josiah gasps, the wind knocked out of him, and Trevor shoves the whip off, twists, and tackles the guy.

“Jennifer!” Sypha calls. “We won’t let you do this.”

The woman turns, and Sypha can see the book behind her on the table— old and falling apart. Jennifer narrows her eyes. “The three of you don’t know what you’re doing.”

“We do,” Sypha assures her. “We’re making sure you don’t hurt any more innocent people.”

“I’m sorry for their deaths, truly, but they were a stepping stone to something greater. I just hope they’ll understand when we’re done here tonight.”

Sypha widens her stance. “No,” she says. “We will not let you win here.”

“So be it.”

Jennifer raises both hands, and Sypha sees what’s happening before it starts this time, recognizing the somatic elements of her lightning spell. And then lightning begins to build around the woman, sizzling in the air and sending waves of heat in Sypha’s direction. Sypha doesn’t flinch, even as her hair and her clothes begin to singe.

The lightning arcs off Jennifer and follows the motion of her hand and strikes in the blink of an eye.

 _“Sypha!”_ Adrian screams.

Sypha does not scream this time. Not as she matches Jennifer’s movements and _pulls_ the lightning through her body, siphoning it from Jennifer until it’s arcing and circling Sypha instead. Her hair begins to raise from the electricity in the air, but still she doesn’t flinch.

 _“I am a scholar of magic,”_ she declares. And the lightning strikes.

This time Jennifer is the one to scream. She’s thrown backwards into the chain link fence before she hits the ground with a _thump_.

Sypha takes a step forward, hands still raised.

“Don’t move!”

Sypha stops in her tracks and turns her body partially before she reaches Jennifer. Kisa stands in the center of the magic circle, one hand gripping Mitch’s chin as she holds the blade of her sword against her neck.

“I know you,” she says, glancing between them—no, not all of them. Just Trevor and Sypha. She’s breathing heavily, her usually sleek ponytail falling out, and her eyes bleed red. The bored expression on her face has shifted into something more desperate. “And I don’t know how you managed it, but it doesn’t matter. Take another step closer and I kill her right here.”

There’s no time to piece together what she means by that. Mitch tries to jerk her head out of the vampire’s grasp, but Kisa just tightens her grip on her chin until her claws begin to dig in, specking red.

She’s captured everyone’s attention now, and Trevor looks up with wide eyes— it’s the opportunity Josiah needs to wrap his legs around Trevor’s waist and flip them both over so he’s on top.

Jennifer coughs and sits up, spitting blood on the ground. “Just do it, Kisa,” she says between pants. _“Do it!”_

_“No!”_

The blade moves cleanly across Mitch’s neck. Her eyes widen in surprise as Kisa lets go, and she hits the ground.

 _“Mitch!”_ Trevor throws Josiah off with strength he didn’t know he possessed.

Two things happen then, at the exact same time:

Trevor scrambles for Mitch, launching himself halfway across the room; and the two circles begin to glow.

The second Trevor tries to cross the circle he’s tossed aside by an invisible force, and Kisa meets the same fate.

Mitch’s blood begins to drain towards the other circle, moving fast as if drawn to some second point. The instant it touches the outer rim of the magic circle it begins to bubble up and boil. And in the second circle, the small box of Dracula’s ashes begins to tremble before it falls on its side.

They can only watch in horror as blood and ash meet.

The blood runs black the second it touches the ash, boiling up bigger and faster now; and then, before they know what’s happening, a blackened form reaches out one spindly hand. It moans: a neverending, haunting noise as it tries to pull its half-formed body free of the sludge that is its begetter.

_“No!”_

Jennifer crawls forward in some horrifying parallel to the creature in the circle.

Whatever it is, it’s not Dracula.

 _“No! No! No!”_ she’s screaming now, pounding the floor with her fists until they’re bloody and bruised. “It was supposed to _work!_ Why didn’t it work?! What more can I _do?!”_

Jennifer _wails_ as Trevor gets his feet under himself and runs for Mitch again. This time, he’s able to cross the invisible barrier with no trouble. He pulls her into his arms, checking her throat, trying to stop the bleeding, but it—it’s too late. He knows it even as he’s tearing at the bottom of his shirt to try and tie it around the wound.

“Why the _fuck_ would you do this?” he shouts; his fear and despair turning to anger. “You had a shit life and now you want to take it out on the rest of the damn world? Deal with it, we all have shit lives!”

Jennifer tears her eyes away from the clawing, deformed body on the ground and looks at Trevor. Her senses seem to return to her and she shakes her head. “I’m going to _save_ people,” she whispers. “I’m going to make sure the criminals and scum of the world can’t hurt people anymore.”

Adrian takes a step forward. “You think my father will stop at the souls of the damned?” he shakes his head. “You’re a fool if you think that; even moreso if you think you will somehow control him.”

_“...A...dri...an…”_

Adrian stiffens. That voice, the haunting, moaning voice—it can’t be. Adrian turns stiffly, his eyes tracking the movements of that creature that said his name in some simulacrum of Dracula’s voice. The creature is barely the size of a baby; it’s not his father, but it sounds like him, almost.

Adrian steps closer and plunges his sword through the creature.

It trembles before its fragile frame shatters into dust once more, mixing with the blood and sludge on the floor, but the thing is no more.

Everyone is silent.

Everyone is silent, and Sypha realizes suddenly that everyone’s attention is on Adrian and Dracula.

Jennifer will not let this die here. Not the way she’s looking at Adrian, trembling. She raises her hands again and begins to summon lightning—but Sypha is quicker. She throws her hands out and follows the motions of the spell book Adrian had given her. She couldn’t do it before, but she does now—calling forth a column of fire that she wraps around Jennifer until she’s trapped.

“We have to go,” she says urgently, grabbing the spell book from the table where it was forgotten. “Adrian, Trevor— we have to go.”

 _“No!”_ Jennifer tries to reach through the fire, but it’s too hot. She screams and pulls her hand back, holding it to her chest. “Stop them!” she shrieks. “My spell book!”

Sypha pulls Trevor away from Mitch’s lifeless body and tugs on Adrian’s arm as they pass him—she has to get them out, has to protect them when they both look so shell shocked and empty. She _will_ protect them.

They flee.

End of Part I


	17. Part II | Chapter 1

Part II | Sypha

“Trevor.”

Trevor stares out the window, 35,000 feet up in the air. His feet and his hands are cold and he knows it’s from the plane, but his mind keeps circling back to a chilled warehouse and a body rapidly cooling to meet the room temperature.

“Trevor.”

Trevor’s no stranger to death, not at this point in his life. But it’s always that clammy, room-temperature feel of a body and the glazed over eyes that are the most unnerving part of it all.

He thought he’d be able to save just one— _one_ —fucking person that he cared about.

_“Trevor.”_

Trevor starts, turning to look at Sypha. “Huh—what?”

She nods to the flight attendant in the aisle. “She asked if you wanted anything.”

“Oh. Uh—yeah.” He shifts around, digging out his wallet in his back pocket and pulling out his credit card. “A whiskey.”

He ignores the look on Sypha’s face as the flight attendant passes him the drink and he hands over his credit card— he downs all of it right there and holds up two fingers, shoulders hunched. “Make it two, please.” It’s a familiar burn down his throat, something easy to focus on.

He takes the second drink slower, and once it’s gone he shoves the plastic cup in the seat pocket in front of him so he can slouch onto his tray.

Trevor dozes.

* * *

_They make it out of the warehouse unimpeded, but they don’t slow down. Josiah’s pursuit of them is relentless, but Kisa lets out a scream of impotent rage when she hits the warehouse door— unable to pursue them further into the sunlight._

_Adrian seems to return to himself somewhat as they sprint back to the car—he flies past Trevor and Sypha and has the engine running and the car in drive by the time they catch up._

_Still, Sypha clings to Trevor’s hand and won’t let go, even once they’re in the car. They’re all breathing heavily, and for a moment the adrenaline seems to bring Trevor back to her._

_Trevor stomps his feet against the floor like it can take all the rage out of him that has nowhere to go. “What do we do now?!” he shouts. “We fucked up and we couldn’t do_ shit _— we didn’t stop them, we were just lucky. Tomorrow they’ll try again, and the day after that and the day after fucking that.” He clenches his hands into fists until his nails bite into his palms._

_“They can’t.”_

_Trevor and Adrian both look at Sypha in the backseat._

_"What do you mean, Sypha?” Adrian asks gently after a pause._

_Sypha glances between the two of them before she pulls the book into her lap—and it looks old, like it could crumble to dust right there, but for now it endures. “They can’t because this is what I took.”_

_Adrian’s eyes widen in the rear view mirror, and he has to turn around to confirm that she really has it. “Sypha…” he says and his voice is made of awe. “Brilliant Sypha!” He looks like he wants to reach for the book but realizes he’s still driving and thinks better of it._

_Trevor turns away and crosses his arms; in the grand scheme of things, Sypha supposes a book hardly means much to him right now, in light of everything else, and she can't say she blames him._

_“They know we have it, though, and they’re going to come after us,” she continues. She runs her hands thoughtfully over the leather bound cover of the book._

_“Good,” Trevor says, and Sypha listens to the rage boil over in his voice. “Let them come.”_

_“I agree,” Adrian says carefully. “But we need to think about this properly. We don’t have the proper means of defense here, and there’s a risk of more civilian casualties.”_

_“What are you suggesting?” Sypha asks._

_“I think we should consider returning home,” Adrian says. “To the Belmont Estate.”_

* * *

It’s a twelve-hour trip from JFK to the Bucharest Henri Coandă International Airport, including a two-hour layover in Zurich. By that point they’re all restless, but they still have a three-hour drive to get to Warakiya, the closest town to the Belmont Manor.

Adrian valiantly offers to drive again; Trevor mopes in the backseat while Sypha flips through the spell book in the passenger seat.

“I forgot how cold it got here,” she says. There’s a chill in the air even in the middle of the day, and Adrian turns up the heat in the car.

“We’ll have to find more appropriate clothing,” Adrian agrees distantly.

Sypha nods; it had been such a mad dash for the airport that they hadn’t spent much time packing, only gathering up the essentials within arm’s reach before they’d been out the door. It’s left their supplies meager, though Sypha will have to take a full inventory once they get to the house.

The drive is mostly silent for the first hour, filled only with offhand remarks intermittently.

“Adrian,” Sypha starts quietly at one point. Trevor is slumped over asleep in the backseat.

“Yes?”

Sypha goes quiet, trying to figure out the words to say. “I don’t…know how to say this without hurting your feelings. And I don’t even know if now is really the right time to say it, but it’s been on my mind. You…you haven’t done all this, just because of who Trevor and I used to be, right?”

His knuckles tighten on the steering wheel. “Have I given you some cause to think so?”

“Not…necessarily. I guess it’s just been a fear I’ve had hanging over me, you know?”

“Sypha…” Adrian takes a deep breath and keeps his eyes trained straight ahead on the road. “It has been a privilege getting to know you and Trevor all over again. I’ve told you before, I believe your hearts are much the same, but the circumstances that have shaped you, the world into which you were born—they have made you different people than you were before. It’s not always easy, of course; sometimes I look at the two of you and I see them. I won’t lie to you and say I don’t. But you’re not—” he stops. “You’re not some replacement I’ve chosen because I can’t have the original.”

Sypha’s lower lip wobbles and she presses her lips into a thin line and looks down at her hands.

“Did I say something wrong?” Adrian asks after a pause, glancing over at her.

“No,” she says. “The opposite.”

“Oh—” He pauses for a moment before he reaches out with one hand and curls it in hers.

“It just—it feels like everything got fucked up back there, you know? And I—I just want to be strong for you and Trevor.”

“You are,” he soothes quietly. “I assure you, you are. But that doesn’t mean you have to be strong all the time.”

Carefully, Sypha squeezes his hand in appreciation. “Thank you, Adrian.”

* * *

“It’s been years since I was last here,” Adrian murmurs to himself as they hit Transylvania proper a little over two hours into their drive.

Sypha looks up from the spell book to glance over at him. “I’ve been meaning to ask something about that,” she says quietly. Though their earlier conversation still sits heavy in her mind, it doesn’t feel quite so heavy anymore. She glances back at Trevor, but he seems pretty dead to the world by this point.

Adrian looks at her out of the corner of his eye. “And what’s that?”

“Well, it’s two things I guess. What did you do after Trevor and I died, the first time you knew us?”

He’s quiet for a long moment before he responds. “...I...travelled, for a brief time. I spent many years trying to find that.” He nods to the closed spell book in her lap. “Unfortunately, I lost track of it and was unable to find any further clues. Whatever the man did after I lost his trail, he kept the spell book close to his chest. And eventually…I chose to return to sleep. I…” he stops there, reluctant to continue. “I was in mourning. I was not ready to move about in the world without the two of you, yet.”

“How long did you sleep?”

“I awoke shortly after World War II. It was—” Adrian shakes his head “—I’m sure your people have terrible memories of that time, stories that you tell to ensure such a thing can never happen again. I imagine the horror I felt at the time was but a fraction of that.”

Sypha nods. “We tell the story of my great-grandfather every year to remember his bravery. He died about eight years ago, but he lived a full life despite everything he went through.”

Adrian nods thoughtfully. “Well,” he says eventually, “I checked up on the Belmont family, and I tried to mixed success to track down the Belnades family, and then… I traveled to the United States. I think I was still trying to run away. I traveled the US for a few years before I became inspired to share my father’s story to the best of my ability, I suppose. And so my exhibit began. And then, one day on my way to the museum…I found the two of you in a coffee shop.”

“And you dropped one of our overpriced mugs,” Sypha teases.

Adrian sniffs haughtily. “I didn’t drop it. I temporarily lost awareness of my own strength and _crushed_ one of your overpriced mugs.”

They both sit in contemplative silence.

“So...does this mean you don’t age? Because if that’s true, everyone will think I majorly scored when I’m an old lady.”

Adrian laughs so hard he has to pull over, and it takes him a full minute to regain his composure as Trevor comes to in the back seat.

“‘re we there yet?” he mumbles, looking around blearily.

Sypha reaches back to pat him on the head. “Sh,” she says indulgently. “Go back to sleep, we’re still driving.”

“Stop having fun,” he continues to mumble, laying back down obediently. “No fun allowed.”

“Noted,” Adrian says softly. He’s still smiling as he pulls back out onto the road, glancing at Trevor in the rear view mirror as he dozes again.

“For the record,” he says quietly to Sypha after a few minutes, continuing their earlier conversation. “I _do_ age, though at a rate much slower than most humans.”

“But you aged quicker as a child?”

Adrian nods, looking pleased. “Yes. You remember?” She nods, so he continues. “My theory is that in childhood, my body was forming and generating new cells faster than the average human as a result of my father’s genes, making me grow faster. And as I reached adulthood, the generation of new cells slowed in me just as it does in humans.”

“So…you aged faster as a child, and now you’re aging slower as an adult for the same reason?”

Adrian nods. “Of course, there isn’t much scientific research on the physiology of dhampirs, so I cannot say for certain. But it would certainly make sense. For the average human, aging is just the point at which your cells begin to die faster than they’re created. My body continues to produce cells faster than they die, but at a more moderate pace than in childhood.”

“You certainly know a lot about this sort of thing.”

“My mother was a doctor,” Adrian reminds her. “And I’ve had plenty of time for reading in my life. I dabble.”

“Have you ever met another dhampir like you?”

It’s like a switch is flipped in Adrian and he closes himself off; and though his expression doesn’t change, Sypha sees the way his knuckles gripping the steering wheel tighter.

“No,” he says shortly. Sypha lets the conversation drop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so Part II begins, and with it, some pretty big changes for the trio as we finally get them back on home turf. You know that means some upgrades for Trevor are coming.
> 
> I also officially finished writing everything last week! So other than edits, it's ready to roll. I'm really excited for how some of these things are going to play out.
> 
> And also, since we're not officially into Part II, I should warn you that I'm planning a sex chapter. Am I allowed to call it that? LOL.
> 
> It's going to be chapter four of this fic and I'll make sure to warn you again beforehand.
> 
> But for now, enjoy and let me know what you think!


	18. Part II | Chapter 2

Warakiya is the kind of village that time forgot on its way into 2018.

It was once fairly populous—at least, as populous as a town in the middle of a forest was ever going to get—but as cities began to grow and form elsewhere, most people left and never looked back.

Sypha suspects Trevor thought that would be him.

He leans into the front seat and directs them through the only main road in and out of the village. As soon as they’re through Warakiya proper, Trevor directs them left and onto a well-hidden dirt road—the only path to the family manor. They almost miss it in the overgrown brush.

“I know where I’m going,” Adrian says snippily. It’s been a long trip for all of them.

They have to go slow along the narrow dirt road, creeping along to avoid any low hanging branches or particularly large rocks.

“That’s my tree,” Trevor mumbles as they drive by a twisted, knotted old thing to their left. Adrian makes an amused _hmph_ noise and Trevor gives him a dirty look. _“What?”_

Adrian shakes his head, still smiling slightly. “It’s nothing,” he says, sounding fond. “It’s just—the more things change, the more they stay the same.”

The house is close after that. Sypha can tell as soon as they pass an old rusted gate and the overgrown road smooths out to real cobblestone.

And the house— She’s never been here before in her life, but still the manor calls to her. Sypha suspects she could find every room she needed by instinct alone inside.

There’s a roundabout in front of the house with a dried-up fountain. Adrian brings the car around and _finally—_

They’re home.

Sypha stares up at the estate in awe as she climbs out of the car. The climbing spires, the overgrown ivy—

“Aw, fuck,” Trevor mumbles under his breath.

“What?” Sypha says, finally tearing her eyes away from the mansion.

Trevor’s digging through his backpack, pulled around to his chest. “Nothing,” he grumbles. “Just can’t find my keys, I’m sure there in here—”

“Trevor, I swear to God if you forgot your keys all the way back in America—”

“Ah-hah!” He brandishes them proudly to her and Sypha rolls her eyes. “See, told you I have them.”

He jogs up the three steps to the large front door and Sypha takes the time to turn to Adrian. “Did… _we_ build it like this?” she asks a little curiously.

Adrian’s looking up at the house speculatively. She’s not sure what answers she’s looking for, but she feels relief when he says, “...No. It did look like this when I visited last, though. Clearly some descendant of yours had a flair for the Gothic that the three of us lacked.”

Sypha can’t help it. She eyes him up and down with an eyebrow raised. “You? No flair for the Gothic? Clearly Trevor and I just had to talk you out of whatever ridiculous plans you had!”

Adrian turns up his nose as he follows Trevor up the stairs. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Sypha laughs as she follows suit.

She expects the interior of the house to be similarly dated—candelabras, maybe, or elaborate chandeliers. But it’s all modern; Trevor drops his keys on a table to his right and flips a light switch, but nothing comes on. He sighs. “Thought that might be too much to hope for. Have to call and get everything turned on.”

Without the lights, Sypha can only see by what’s left of the light outside; it leaves everything half in shadows, but it only seems too add to the feeling of a half-remembered memory. They stand there in a foyer with a grand staircase, and _that_ Sypha remembers.

She’s torn between getting a fire started in the living room and taking an immediate tour of the place, but finally her curiosity wins out. She drops her bags in front of the staircase and takes them two at a time until she’s halfway up, then looks back at the boys. “I’m going to explore,” she declares.

She watches Trevor’s face fall and thinks it has something to do with what she’s said until he says—

“Shit. We don’t have any food.”

* * *

Trevor goes to scavenge in the kitchen while Sypha begins her exploration of the house. There’s four bedrooms upstairs as well as a study, and white sheets have been thrown over all the furniture. She pulls the sheets off everything and opens a few windows to air out the stale scent that lingers.

She finds old perfume bottles and picture frames left upside down on the top of a dresser in one of the rooms. Sypha picks up one of the picture frames out of curiosity, and in it is a family photo—little Trevor, no older than two or three and sitting in what must be his mother’s lap. A man stands on her right, and he must be Trevor’s father—they have the same smile and the same hair.

And there’s a girl. She looks thirteen, and Sypha frowns as she reaches out and touches her face. She and Trevor have the same eyes.

He’d never mentioned a sister before.

Sypha sets the photo back down and leaves the master bedroom alone as soon as she recognizes it for what it is: a eulogy.

She wonders though, if Trevor used to spray his mother’s perfume just to remember her scent, or if he’d ever curled up in their bed after they were gone—or if he’d closed that door and never gone back inside, too scared to face that vulnerability. She has a feeling she knows which one it was.

Trevor jogs halfway up the stairs when she starts coming down; she feels wrong, like she’d gone somewhere she shouldn’t have, but Trevor doesn’t seem to notice her unease, nor does he notice the door she closes behind herself.

“Adrian somehow found a place that would deliver groceries,” he tells her. “God knows how except with a lot of money, but the alternative was driving an hour to a bigger city.”

Sypha clears her throat and tries to push the room from her thoughts—some secrets, she thinks, hurt too much to name. “It’s not my money,” she says instead.

Trevor rolls his eyes as she reaches the landing and glances left—that’s the hallway to the kitchen, and to the right—

“The library is this way, right?”

“I—yeah.” He shakes his head a little. “Guess you really do know your way around this place.”

Sypha shrugs. “You know, I thought it would be bigger,” she says casually. They pass through an open doorway and into the library and it—it’s dark with no lights, but it’s _beautiful_ even by the dim light.

Sypha draws the blinds to let in what little sunlight is left before sunset.

“Can I—” she starts.

Trevor waves her forward. “By all means.”

By the time Adrian joins them fifteen minutes later, leaning in the door frame on his phone, Sypha’s already amassed a collection of four books. Still, so far as she can tell, there’s nothing supernatural or otherwise magical about the library, and she says as much aloud.

“I’m not surprised, if Trevor’s parents were keeping it a secret.”

“We have a— A Hold, yes?”

Adrian nods slightly. “If you’d like we can go now,” he offers.

But none of them feel particularly motivated; it’s been a long day and a longer week, and when no one leaps on the plan Adrian doesn’t press the issue. “Tomorrow, then,” he say, pushing off the door frame. “If that’s the case, I’m going to go find firewood.”

Trevor follows him immediately, because he has to make everything a competition between the two of them.

Sypha uses the time to finish perusing the library before she goes in search of a linen closet. It’s dark out by that point and the temperature is rapidly dropping outside and she hurries to close all the windows she’d opened to let the fresh air in earlier— she’d forgotten how much colder it could get in Romania.

It’s colder upstairs both literally and figuratively, so Sypha hurries back downstairs to look for spare blankets there. This time she’s more successful— there’s a cupboard under the stairs that’s filled with blankets. She takes them all out to sniff them, shaking loose a spider or two from the more questionable one. She helps the spiders outside before she decides which blankets to keep and which will need to be tossed.

It’s sad, Sypha thinks as she moves through a house that feels rather like its occupants had left without ever realizing that they wouldn’t be back, hollow and half-lived in.

She piles the blankets in the living room and brings her books in, too. The boys finally come back in from outside, cajoling and bickering over who’d _really_ chopped more wood. They both carry a log under each arm.

Adrian makes a bed out of the blankets there on the plush carpet in front of the fireplace as Sypha puts the first log in. She tries to find a spare newspaper to use as kindling, but when that doesn’t work she shrugs and finds some pulp romance novel in the library for the same job.

She’s getting better at using her magic. The first step taken that day in the warehouse, she finds her abilities honing every little bit she practices, and she’s growing an affinity for fire. She creates enough to get the fire started in the fireplace. Trevor brings up flashlights and candles from the cellar, and she lights those, too, while he looks on, impressed.

Adrian takes care to remain inside when the delivery boy arrives with their groceries. “You know how superstitious the locals are,” he tells them. “I’d rather not scare him off with all our food.”

Which is fair, although Trevor and Sypha both grumble about it as they fetch the groceries. Trevor makes sure to tip the kid enough that his annoyance quickly shifts into pleasure before he leaves.

And then they’re alone again.

Sypha glances up at the stars as the headlights of the delivery boy’s car fade away. “I forgot how much brighter the stars could be, without all that pollution.” She bumps shoulders with Trevor as they climb the steps of the manor, arms laden with paper bags.

Trevor mumbles something and looks down and away— Sypha smiles at the light blush that dusts his cheeks as they walk back into the candlelight.

It’s romantic— even when they’re eating cereal straight from the box. Sypha accidentally destroys a bag of chips when she’s too enthusiastic opening them, and it’s everything she wants to give her boys and more. For the night their shoulders ease just a bit, enough for Sypha to push herself beyond the barriers they’ve each put up, enough for her to try and remind them _you are more than your trauma!_

She sleeps between them again to keep both of them within arm’s reach.

And when Trevor tries to roll over and face the fire, Sypha pulls him back and kisses him, long and slow, and thinks:

_Finally._

* * *

  _Sypha dreams of a house._

_Not just any house, of course; and not a finished one, either. It’s theirs; or it will be when they’re done._

_Sypha hadn’t thought that they would come back here. At least, that’s what Trevor had said as they’d ridden away from Alucard six months ago._

_“It feels like a graveyard,” Trevor confessed as they tried to sleep in the back of the cart that first night, just the two of them. “I hope he makes something of it. He deserves it, and I— I don’t want it to be a place of death.”_

_Sypha sat up and looked at Trevor, really looked at him. “Trevor,” she said. “What are we_ doing?!”

_Trevor sat up on his elbows, looking confused. “We’re...trying to sleep, I thought.”_

_“Not that, stupid. We just left him there!”_

_“We… did,” Trevor said slowly, like he still didn’t get it._

_Sypha pressed a fist to her heart. “We told him to make a life, but how can he do that all alone when he’s just surrounded by a graveyard? That’s not a job for a single person. Trevor, we’re_ idiots!”

_“That’s a new one… so what are you saying?”_

_Sypha’s already climbed into the front of the cart, turning to look at Trevor like it should be obvious. “We’re going back.”_

_And so they had._

_They’d found Alucard and they’d found the Forgemaster’s demon, and Hector seemed as good a place as any to continue helping people. So they’d warded the doors of Dracula’s castle and hidden the gaping entrance to the Belmont Hold beneath pounds of rubble— not a permanent solution, but a short-term answer before they’d set out._

_And when they were done, they’d returned to the Belmont-Țepeș land together._

_And so here Sypha now sits, nails sticking out of the corner of her mouth as Trevor and Alucard settle the frame of the house into place for her to nail down. Sypha had laughed when Alucard had brought out the books of architecture that had belonged to his father, but they’d proven useful._

_“Not as big as the old place,” had been Trevor’s only request. But the old Belmont manor had been a huge, sprawling thing, so even that parameter didn’t amount to much._

_In time, villagers begin to return to Warakiya, too. Some Trevor recognizes, though most he doesn’t. That, he confesses, might be partially just that he’d been too young to remember most of the people in town._

_Some people, of course, come for the spectacle when they learn that this is where Dracula’s castle has made its final trip._

_And when they find the three of them, slowly and methodically putting together a house on the ruins of an old manor, just scant miles from the castle, they grow curious._

_The three of them position themselves as guards of the castle; and then, something curiouser._

_The villagers come together, offering their help putting together the new house._

_Trevor is wary, of course, and Sypha doesn’t blame him, but he accepts the help regardless. She takes that as healing, and lets him complain now and again._

_And so the house is built with love written into its very foundation. Sypha writes protection spells into the walls, and traces spells for safety and awareness around the edges of their land as the boys follow with a brick wall. She finishes it off at the end of their one road to the house and there they build a gate._

_“We had some magic in the old house,” Trevor says. “To keep the supernatural out. Guess it didn’t work out so well for them in the end when it was humans who brought them down.” But there’s acceptance in his voice, now, not bitterness._

_Sypha takes his hand and squeezes it. Alucard stands just apart from them, arms crossed, and Sypha reaches out and takes his hand, too. “We don’t keep the supernatural out,” she says. “Not this time. This magic will run deep into the earth and it will rebuff those with evil intentions. No more and no less.”_

_And so a home is built._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone's curious... not only did I spend probably an hour searching the wiki for the name of the village the Belmont Estate is near...
> 
> But its name also comes from the Japanese pronunciation of "Wallachia." The more you know!


	19. Part II | Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trio venture into the Belmont Hold, for better or worse.

It’s still dark out—dark and cold, and Sypha steals the top blanket from Trevor as she shimmies out from under his arm and goes in search of Adrian. She checks the kitchen and the library and the dining room with the dark blue blanket wrapped around her shoulders, but it’s only on her second pass through that she spots a figure seated in the grass out the kitchen window.

She tries to close the kitchen door quietly. She’s sure Adrian hears it still, but he doesn’t turn even as she walks across the wet dirt. From here, they have a beautiful view of the castle— Adrian’s childhood home. Sometimes it’s hard to remember that.

“Are you alright?” she asks as she sits down next to him. It’s cold enough for snow, though the sky remains clear; her toes curl in her shoes from the frozen ground and she pulls the blanket closer. Already, she can feel her fingers beginning to go numb and she misses the warmth of the fire—and the warmth of Trevor.

Adrian makes a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat.

They sit in silence for a few minutes, and Sypha figures that maybe he just needs some time to think, but she doesn’t want him to be alone.

“…It’s beautiful,” she says eventually. Grey light tinges the edges of the horizon, the barest hint that dawn will soon arrive.

Adrian grunts. “It is,” he finally agrees.

Sypha scoots closer until their sides are flush. “What are you thinking?”

Adrian shakes his head and looks down at his hands. “There is just a lot on my mind.”

“About your father?”

He nods. “Among other things. Seeing that… creature in the warehouse was— difficult.”

“Of course,” Sypha says sympathetically.

“It’s not that I have any love lost for him,” he defends immediately. “It’s only—”

“Adrian.” He stops and looks up from his hands, over to her. “It’s okay to miss him. You know that right? Seeing something like that was horrifying for all of us, so I can only imagine how you felt. And that’s okay. We don’t hold it against you.”

Adrian stares at her for a moment before he chuckles and has to look down, shaking his head. “How ridiculous of me to forget your capacity for empathy. You are ceaselessly impressive.”

Sypha blushes and quickly looks away in embarrassment. “Well, I don’t know if I would go that far—”

“It’s true,” he says plainly. “Your redirection of Jennifer’s lightning was something most novice magicians would not have been able to accomplish. You held your own in that fight and you have—” he clears his throat “—you have been instrumental in keeping both Trevor and me together while we have each been quietly falling apart at the seams. So, thank you.”

Sypha lets out a breath and drops her head against his shoulder. She curls her arms around his as well as she can manage when she’s wrapped in a blanket. “Thank you, Adrian. I just want to show that I’m worth something. I—” she shakes her head a little. “I know how that sounds and I don’t mean it like that. I know it’s a— a basic human dignity, but all I ever wanted was to make my life matter. To know that I’m not just helping you and Trevor, but the whole world…it’s gratifying, I guess.”

Adrian leans over to press a kiss to her forehead. She closes her eyes and leans into the affection, and thinks, the only thing that could make this better is if—

“What the bloody hell are you two arseholes doing out in the fucking cold?!” Trevor hollers from the safety of the kitchen door.

Sypha looks up, meeting Adrian’s gaze for a second before they both giggle.

“I’m not coming out there to get you!” he nags.

“I am starting to feel a bit numb,” Sypha concedes privately to Adrian.

“I suppose we should return,” he agrees. He stands, helping her up. They keep their hands together all the way back to the house and follow Trevor back to bed. And he complains that they’re freezing, but he pulls them closer all the same.

* * *

When they finally wake up again later, the sun has fully risen.

“The power should come on today,” Trevor says. “I called the power company while you were searching the house yesterday, Sypha.”

“I don’t know,” she says a little wistfully. “I kind of liked the candlelight.”

Trevor scoffs. “Well, you can go ahead and freeze in the candlelight, then. Back here in the real world, I’m going to turn the fucking heat on.”

She can tell he’s trying to push off their reason for being here; she can’t say she fully understands, but she supposes that in a certain way, she gets it. If she’d spent her whole life thinking something about her family, she wouldn’t necessarily want to believe that it had been a lie the whole time, either. Still, there’s only so much he can stall before Adrian brings it up again and he finally has to concede.

“We should head down into the Hold soon.”

“Fine, yeah, whatever,” he grumbles, waving his hand dismissively. Adrian’s brows draw together in confusion, but he doesn’t comment. “You’re sure it was downstairs?” Trevor continues.

Adrian nods; hesitates. “It should be,” he says finally. “There is, of course, always the chance that it was moved after I left, but we built it into the wine cellar.”

“That was one hundred percent your idea by the way,” Sypha points out to Trevor. Adrian stands between them and she physically leans around him to give Trevor a look.

“Sypha’s right,” Adrian concurs.

“Bah!” is all Trevor says. He rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest.

Adrian leads them downstairs, turning on the weak light as he goes. He moves through the shelves as someone who’s familiar with the place; Sypha wonders if it’s startling to Trevor, or if it’s just something he expects from them by now.

Adrian comes to a stop in front of a stone slab; it’s gilded and flush to the wall, and carved into it is the Belmont family crest.

Sypha glances at Trevor, but he’s staring intently at the stone slab.

“You recognize it,” Adrian says.

“Of course I recognize it,” Trevor snaps. He pushes past Adrian to reach out and run his fingers down the stone. “I grew up with it—or I… helped create it? But it—” he stops and shakes his head, stepping back. “It doesn’t mean that my parents had anything to do with it.”

“How do we open it?” Sypha asks. She comes forward too, examining the language etched into the frame of the stone. “This, right? It’s another language. What does it say?”

“...It’s Enochian,” Adrian says eventually. “Step back.” They both do as they’re told, watching silently as he closes his eyes and presses his hands together. And then he reaches out.

_“Nolos de Malpirgi od Nasodisanol: Odo.”_

The room is filled with a supernatural blue light and Sypha feels her hair whipping against her skin as she covers her eyes from the bright flair. When she opens them again, the stone is gone and in its place: a staircase leading down.

 _“Amazing,”_ she whispers.

Slowly, Adrian lowers his hands to his sides. When he turns to look at them, there’s something unreadable in his expression before he looks away. “Door of Life and Protection: Open. That’s what it says.”

Adrian starts down the stairs; Sypha’s quick to follow. “And _we_ wrote that spell? The language, that must be the conduit for the magic. Like how Speaker magic requires somatic motions to cast. For Enochian magic, it is the speaking of the words that matters. What about intent? Does that matter at all?”

“If by ‘we’ you mean _‘you’,_ then yes,” Adrian concedes. They walk until the light of the cellar can no longer reach them, and Sypha regrets not having flashlights on them. “You crafted the spell yourself, patterning it on the magic of the old door that was destroyed. You would know the details better than I.”

“‘Life and Protection’,” Sypha repeats. “A noble goal.”

“Indeed,” Adrian says. His pace slows and Sypha matches it, unsure why until she realizes that the passageway has opened up a few feet ahead.

He steps out into the atrium and stops before a grand staircase, finally turning around to look at them. No, Sypha realizes; not at them— at Trevor.

Sypha turns, too, watching the way Trevor steps into the room. And he looks so _normal,_ dressed in jeans and a henley— and yet, as her eyes ghost across the room, the family crests strung up across the walls, she thinks he’s never looked more fitting anywhere else before.

“‘To defend those harmed by malice,’” Adrian says. “The Belmont family motto. _Trevor’s_ motto.”

Trevor walks past them both, not seeming to hear their conversation; he reaches out and runs his fingers along the banister as he begins to climb further down.

“That wasn’t always their motto?” Sypha says; a question.

“No,” Adrian agrees. “He changed it, when he returned the Belmont line to life. They were hunters before him. He said they could be something more than that.”

They all fall silent as they make the rest of the climb. Sypha finds that every step she takes her familiarity grows, like she’s spent a lifetime walking this path.

Trevor stays in the lead as they reach the landing, coming to a stop before the closed door. Sypha sees the way he hesitates and reaches out for him, but Trevor pulls away before she can, steps forward, and opens the door.

“It’s…” Sypha doesn’t have the proper words to describe it; the whole room is dark, leaving her unable to make out much more than the silhouettes of the bookshelves and the criss-crossing staircases, but it’s enough to capture the scope of the Belmont collection. She shakes her head and steps forward, bringing her hands together. She closes her eyes and focuses with intent, summoning forth fire in her hands. Then, as it stabilizes, Sypha throws her hands out, opening her eyes to watch as the fire spreads across the room, lighting the sconces until the room is bathed in a soft yellow light. “It’s beautiful,” she murmurs.

Trevor steps up next to her, bracing himself against the banister like it’s the only thing keeping him on his feet.

“Trevor?” Sypha says carefully. “Are you okay?”

“...I’m fine,” he says finally. “C’mon, let’s keep going down.”

They follow him, exchanging glances behind his back, but Trevor doesn’t acknowledge them any more. There’s a lectern at the bottom of the stairs— it holds a complete record of every book in here, Sypha remembers that. But there’s other aspects of the Hold that are foreign, elements that have been added or taken away that don’t match up with her vague memories.

Adrian drifts away from them, wandering down past two shelves to stop before a mirror.

“That’s the mirror we used to track Dracula, right?” Sypha says, coming up behind him.

Adrian trails his fingers along the frame of the mirror. “...Yes,” he says quietly. Claw marks have been torn through the symbols and Sypha clucks her tongue.

“It’s broken,” she says in disappointment. “I wonder what happened to it.”

Adrian hums. “Perhaps… we can see about repairing it,” he says without answering.

Trevor inhales sharply behind them, and Sypha turns around. “Trevor?” He’s standing in front of the lectern, but he’s holding something in his left hand and staring at it. It looks like a letter, and Sypha can see the way it trembles in his hand. “What is it?”

“It’s, uh—” he clears his throat and starts tearing at the envelope. “It’s a letter. Addressed to me.”

Sypha comes closer and tries to read over his shoulder, but Trevor turns away so all she can see is the envelope.

 _Little Sparrow,_ it says in a feminine handwriting.

Sypha pulls her hands back, trying to give Trevor some space while he reads when it seems like that’s what he wants. She shares a look with Adrian, but he seems at as much of a loss as she is.

“Trevor,” she says carefully when he finishes.

He doesn’t answer immediately, curling his hands into fists around the letter. He doesn’t answer until Sypha puts her hand on top of his. “...I… she knew. My aunt, my whole family.” He looks up, like he’s looking to heaven for an answer, but none comes. He gives the letter to Sypha. “Here. You can read it if you want. I don’t care.” He shakes his head. “...There’s so much here. So much that I never knew anything about growing up, and I should have... Did my parents even die in a fucking car crash?!” Finally, he looks at her. “I _should have known._ This is— this is my birthright, my _history,_ and I know nothing about it.

“If I’d known all this, maybe…”

“Maybe what.” Adrian’s voice is sharp as he approaches the two of them and Sypha turns to frown at him over her shoulder.

“Maybe Mitch would still be alive.”

Sypha covers her mouth, but Adrian doesn’t even hesitate. “You think so?” he says, voice caustic. “Tell me, Trevor, how old were you when your parents died?”

Trevor turns to glare at Adrian. “Six, or— or seven—”

“So hardly enough time to learn—”

“But my aunt had until I was _thirteen_ to teach me!”

Adrian goes quiet. “...And what exactly do you think you would have learned by thirteen that could have changed the outcome of that fight? You were a child—”

“So was _your_ Trevor!”

They all go silent; Trevor and Adrian look equal parts stunned by Trevor’s outburst, before Trevor’s expression shifts into one of resolve. “I remember it,” he continues, voice low. “The night my family was killed. _Both_ of them. But at least the first time around I had this knowledge and put it to good use— or do you forget I helped you kill _fucking_ Dracula. So yeah, if this hadn’t been kept from me, maybe I could have done something with the knowledge.”

“...The world was different then,” Adrian says finally. “And I don’t blame your family for wanting to protect you. And you are my Trevor now.”

“Adrian’s right,” Sypha says when Trevor scoffs and looks like he’s going to argue. They both turn to look at her. “I’m sorry, Trevor, but you can’t keep thinking about the ‘what if’s. They will only drive you mad.” She reaches out for his hand with both of hers. “You did everything you could; we all did. And we’re going to stop them and avenge her; so she wouldn’t want you blaming yourself like this. She’d want you to do something about it.”

Trevor exhales shakily. “You’re right,” he says quietly. “I know you’re right. Just— give me time.”

Sypha nods. “Of course,” she agrees softly. “Take all the time you need.”

“I—” he clears his throat. “I’m going back up. Don’t— don’t follow me, please. I just need some air.”

Sypha looks like she wants to fight him on it, but Adrian puts his hand on her shoulder to hold her back and nods to Trevor. “Go. We’ll give you some time alone.”

Trevor nods. Sypha watches him go, balling her hands into fists. She hates feeling useless. The crinkle of paper in her hands reminds her, though, and she jolts and glances up at Trevor, then over to Adrian.

“What is it?” he asks quietly. Sypha holds up the letter wordlessly. Adrian’s gaze drifts up to Trevor, too, before he looks at Sypha. “We’ll read it together,” he says. So she nods, and together they begin to read.

_Little Sparrow,_

_If you’re reading this, then this is a double-edged sword. It means you’ve found the complete Belmont compendium, but it also means I’m dead._

_Sorry if that’s the case, kiddo. I was really looking forward to showing you everything your parents couldn’t, after they died._

_This collection is yours now, for better or worse. It’s meant to be shared and passed from generation to generation when they come of age, so we can help protect people from the supernatural. So I sure fucking hope you’ve found it, because otherwise this place will turn to dust with no one the wiser, and it’d be a fucking shame to lose the knowledge of generations of Belmonts._

_I’ve spent a long time agonizing over whether I should tell you the truth now. Maybe I should—maybe it’s what the Belmonts need, you know? If I die tomorrow, every secret dies with me. But it’s not what you need, not right now. I just want you to have a chance to be a kid. Sometimes you look at me with those big eyes and it fucking kills me. But you never ask when your parents are coming home, or when Olivia will be able to play. You’re so fucking young and you already know how shitty the world can be._

_Really wish I could have been there to help you grow up, kid. I know your parents would wish that, too._

_And always remember, no matter what: Belmonts are brave, and Belmonts always help._

_I love you,_  
_Aunt Edelie_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Researching magic/archaic/dead language is a rabbit hole, let me tell you. If anyone's curious, there's English to Enochian translators out there, which is how I came up with the phrase Adrian said. I tried to break down what was said in the show, but I couldn't find translations for half of it so finally gave up.
> 
> I definitely re-watched the reveal of the Belmont Hold and listened to The House of Belmont dozens of times to capture some of the original feeling, so I hope I managed to evoke some of that reverence and wonder here.
> 
> We also finally got confirmation that Trevor's family were involved in everything but kept him sheltered to protect him.


	20. Part II | Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's here. The long-anticipated climax - Trevor, Sypha, and Adrian's one true chance to be horny on main.
> 
> If you're not interested in the sex that's totally cool, there's still some good plot stuff going on before and after. You can just go ahead and stop reading where with the paragraph that begins "Sypha's right." You can pick back up after the scene break ("Sypha dreams of dreaming.")

The next few days are spent in a strange state of limbo. Trevor keeps to himself, drifting through the house like a ghost.  
  
No, Sypha corrects herself. Not like a ghost; ghosts have no claim to the world, but Trevor clings to his life with a flaring, bright fervor. He’s not a ghost, he’s just a man who’s lost his footing.  
  
She wants to reach out to him, but she’s not sure how, or if it would be welcomed. Adrian seems to think Trevor would rather be left alone; and she appreciates that Adrian’s just trying to do right by him, same as her, but she’s not so sure it’s the right path to take. She leaves him be for two day’s time. Adrian keeps to himself, too, so Sypha takes to exploring the Hold, searching for books related to magic and so thirsty for any knowledge she can find.  
  
Still, at the end of every day they continue to come together, lighting the fire in the living room and curling up under the covers of their makeshift bed. Adrian brings down a mattress from upstairs the second night, and none of them make so much as an attempt to move into separate bedrooms, even once the heat’s been turned on and they lose their excuse.

He comes back to them after the second day as Sypha sits reading in front of the fire.

“After my parents died,” he says, apropos of nothing, “my aunt moved in to take care of me. She had been in England since before I was born—the kind that would only visit for Christmas, but me and—” he stumbles here but forges on nonetheless “—me and my sister looked forward to it because she always brought the best presents.”

“Olivia,” Sypha says, remembering the letter.

Trevor nods without looking at her. “Yes,” he says, his voice tight. “Olivia. She was thirteen when the accident happened.”

“Do you think your parents were perhaps training her, the night it happened?” Adrian asks as he takes a seat on the other side of them. Trevor glances back at him and moves so he can see them both better.

“Maybe,” he says shortly. The word is weighted, and after a moment, he expounds. “Is it strange to say it almost makes sense? I spent so long trying to resist this idea that _that_ could have been my parents, but now that I know they knew all along…I dunno. I just keep thinking of how much sense it really makes after all. They—” he laughs a little here, to himself. “It sounds funny to say now, but they hated Halloween. At the time I thought it was just because people would always come onto our land to try and break into the castle on Halloween, and I’m sure you’ve seen the Dracula-themed parties all over Transylvania. But what if it was more than that? Why else would they have been out that night? They never went out on Halloween, especially not with my sister.

“And—and my mother’s family. They disowned her when she married my dad. My grandmother refused to take me in after they died because she said I would bring demons into her home. I always thought she meant _me_ —but what if she didn’t. What if she _literally_ meant I would bring demons with me?” He sighs a little. “And my aunt—she hired tutors to come out and teach me fencing and karate…as a kid, I just thought—you know, it’s not like she had a choice when she got saddled with me. I thought she was trying to—I dunno—”

“Make you someone else’s problem?” Sypha tries to suggest gently.

He lets out a tired laugh. “Yeah. ‘Specially since I was such a nightmare as a kid. Felt like I was constantly being pulled a million ways at once, couldn’t focus for shit—figured she wanted to be rid of me.”

“She loved you,” Adrian says.

Trevor laughs again. “Yeah. I know that _now._ Except it was her love that caused her to fuck up. She didn’t tell me the truth because she wanted to protect me, and then she died. And if I hadn’t met you, those secrets would have been lost forever. Even if I _had_ come back here eventually—and that’s a pretty damn big _if—_ I never would have found the Hold. Generations lost just like that.”

Adrian is silent at that for a long time. “…Are you angry with her?” he says finally.

Trevor groans. “Isn’t that a loaded question. Am I angry with her? Shit, I dunno. Maybe a bit. It was selfish.”

“She was only trying to do what she thought was best,” Adrian says carefully.

“Don’t you think I know that?” Trevor counters. “It _was_ selfish. But…I think I get it, too.” They all go silent, sitting there in comfortable silence before finally Sypha reaches out for him and squeezes Trevor’s hand.

“We should go to bed,” he says eventually, moving to stand. Sypha grabs his wrist to stop him before he can leave, giving a hard enough tug that he stops in his tracks as she uses him to stand up.

“Stop running from us, Trevor,” she says. There’s an edge to her voice, but it’s a plea nonetheless. “Please.”

Trevor stares at her for a long moment before he reaches down with his free hand to take hers. “I’m not running, Sypha.” And still he doesn’t break her gaze; doesn’t look away. “Not anymore.”

Sypha’s lips part as she stares up at him, and the moment feels heavy and charged before he finally moves to turn away—and Sypha reaches up to grab the front of his shirt and pull him back in to a kiss.

“Let us be here for you,” she says as she pulls back—just long enough to get the words out before she’s kissing him again, curling her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck and tugging. Trevor breaks off the kiss and _moans_ , and then Adrian’s on his feet with supernatural speed, pulling Trevor’s hips back into his.  
  
“Trevor.”  
  
Adrian says Trevor’s name the way he says most things: like it’s a statement to be made, not a question to be asked. Like Trevor’s name on his lips is a given. His lips ghost over Trevor’s neck and Sypha watches the way Trevor’s breath hitches in his chest and the way his pupils blow wide.  
  
“Sypha’s right,” Adrian murmurs into his ear. Trevor arches back and his eyes fall closed and Sypha feels a needy ache stir between her legs. “Let us take care of you,”  
  
“That’s what you want, huh?” Trevor gasps out, always challenging.  
  
_“Yes_.” That’s Sypha, and Trevor groans the moment the word leaves her lips.  
  
_“Okay,”_ he gasps. “Okay, okay— _Sypha._ _”_ She runs her hands up his chest and his throat before her fingers curl into the stubble along his jaw and _grip._  
  
“Tell us what _you_ want, Trevor,” she says firmly.  
  
“I want to kiss you,” he says desperately. “Both of you.” It catches her off-guard, and Sypha giggles and ducks her head against his chest, smiling.  
  
“I suppose that can be arranged,” she says, and he can _hear_ the smile in her voice as she looks back up at him and leans in close— he can feel the smile in her kiss, too, and it almost makes him want to come apart at the seams before they’ve even done anything at all. And then Adrian reminds Trevor he’s there by spinning him around and shoving him down on the bed. 

“Oh, fuck,” Trevor breathes as he bounces once before Adrian is on top of him, lifting Trevor’s hips and shimmying his sweatpants down to take him in hand and Trevor gasps—  
  
“That’s right, Trevor,” Sypha says as she kneels on the bed beside him. She starts to pepper kisses down his neck as Adrian shifts around to get a better grip on him.  
  
_“Adrian_ ,” he pleads. Adrian responds by kicking the blankets completely off the bed and releasing Trevor just long enough to tug his sweatpants down the rest of the way and position himself between Trevor’s legs.  
  
“Do you trust me?” Adrian asks as he takes the base of Trevor’s cock in hand again and rubs his thumb in teasing circles. He smiles at Trevor for him to see twin fangs in the dim light and Trevor’s cock feels so hard it aches just looking at Adrian there between his legs.  
  
“Yes,” he groans, his head thumping back on the mattress. “Yes, I trust you, you bas—” Adrian’s tongue darts out to lick a teasing line before Trevor can finish his sentence, cutting him off as he takes Trevor’s head in his mouth until he’s moaning.  
  
Sypha lets out a quiet pant just watching them, squeezing her thighs together.  
  
“Sypha,” Trevor gasps out, and hearing him say her name like that, wrecked and pleading, fills her with so much desire it’s startling. “Sypha, please, I want to taste you.”  
  
Oh.  
  
Sypha lifts her head, tearing her gaze away from Adrian bobbing his head up and down on Trevor’s cock— one hand holds his golden blond hair our of his face and the other begins to massage Trevor’s balls— to look at Trevor’s face. “You’re sure?” she asks. Trevor nods, and that’s all the encouragement Sypha needs before she’s stripping off her pants and underwear.  
  
It takes some shuffling to find a good position before Sypha can position herself above him, her thighs framing either side of his face as Trevor laps at her inner thigh— and then she sucks in a breath as he tongues against her clit and a sharp spike of pleasure jolts through her.  
  
Trevor smiles, running his tongue back over the same spot to elicit the same reaction. Sypha curls her fingers in the twisted sheets and rolls her hips as Trevor’s hands roam up over her hips and to her waist to pull her closer.  
  
Sypha gasps as his tongue moves further, lapping at her folds and teasing at her entrance.  
  
_“Trevor,”_ she cries.  
  
Adrian hums with his mouth wrapped around Trevor’s cock and Trevor feels his whole body shudder. “Oh god,” he mutters. His hands fall away from Sypha’s waist to tug at Adrian’s hair and pull him closer. Adrian obliges, taking even more of him in until Adrian’s taken him to the hilt. He pulls back slow and teasing— then takes all of Trevor again, bobbing up and down until Trevor is thrusting into his mouth for more, _more._  
  
Sypha can tell he’s getting close from the way he laps at her clit, losing his rhythm in his eager desperation and _fuck_ , Sypha doesn’t think she’s ever been so wet, ever wanted this more than right now, with them.  
  
And then Trevor bucks his hips and Sypha can feel his breath on her clit as he gasps and cries out Adrian’s name— and then his whole body slackens, spent.  
  
Sypha rolls off him and onto her back beside him as Adrian pulls off him, breathing heavy and looking between the two of them.  
  
Trevor covers his face with his arm, chest still heaving.  
  
Sypha licks her lips as she slips her hand down to continue where Trevor left off. She glances down at Adrian, and her breath feels like it’s knocked out of her when she finds him looking back. He holds her gaze like a predator as she slips one finger inside.  
  
“Would you like help with that?” he offers as he sits up and moves into a more comfortable position.  
  
“Whoa,” Trevor says beside them. He’s still breathing heavily, and they both glance in his direction. “I didn’t say I was finished.”  
  
“I’m impressed, Belmont,” Adrian says idly. “More stamina than I expected.”  
  
“Not for me,” he says pointedly as he rolls onto his side. He looks to Sypha for permission as his hand drifts down to rub against her clit— Sypha arches her back into the touch, gasping. “I’ll take that as a yes,” Trevor jokes.  
  
Sypha nods emphatically as his forefinger catches at her entrance. Adrian swallows, swiping his thumb across his lips. “You’re both beautiful…” he whispers reverently.  
  
“Come here,” Sypha demands, and Adrian does as he’s bid, moving until he’s leaning over the other side of her body and Sypha pulls him in for a forceful kiss as Trevor presses a finger inside. She gasps into the kiss, toes curling, and tugs at Adrian’s hair to make sure he gets the picture. _No leaving._  
  
Adrian seems to have no problem with that. His breath shudders when she tugs on his hair, returning her kiss with fervor. He braces himself with one arm underneath himself as he works down her neck and across her chest, his other hand coming up to give a teasing tug on her breasts.  
  
Sypha practically _keens_ and Adrian chuckles against her skin. “Sensitive, are we?” he murmurs.  
  
But Sypha can’t answer as Trevor slips another finger inside and continues working her, so much thicker than she’s used to with her own hands.  
  
They don’t stop or slow their pace even as she feels a pressure building inside her. She’s gasping for breath, crying both their names into the open room and clawing at the sheets.  
  
“I— _I_ _’m—”_  
  
Sypha will say later that she did _not_ scream; Trevor and Adrian will both _respectfully_ disagree.  
  
She comes hard, bucking into Trevor’s hand as her body begins to tremble with little aftershocks. Everywhere the boys touch her feels electric and too much.  
  
Adrian and Trevor both lean forward to kiss her, Adrian on the forehead and Trevor on the cheek, and Sypha giggles because there’s no where else she would rather be.  
  
“Your turn,” Sypha tells Adrian after a moment, shoving him back down on the bed.  
  
He bounces slightly in place, looking up at Sypha. “You don’t have to do that,” he murmurs.  
  
Sypha rolls her eyes. “I don’t have to do anything, Adrian. I _want_ to.” She reaches down, palming his cock through his sleep pants, and Adrian lets out a restrained moan, his head falling back on a pillow. “Now, up,” she commands.  
  
Adrian does as he’s told, lifting his hips to make it easier to tug his pants down and free his cock. Sypha thumbs across the head, watching curiously as it leaks pre-cum.  
  
_“Sypha,”_ he pleads. _“Trevor.”_  
  
“Sh,” Sypha assures him. She ducks her head and takes him partway into her mouth, slicking him up, and Adrian cries out with pleasure as she pulls off and begins to stroke him slow and steady. “I know,” she tells him, beginning to play with his balls with her other hand.  
  
Trevor’s hand ghosts up her side as he crowds against them both— she can feel him half-hard against her as he scoots further up the bed and gives Adrian’s hair a good tug. Adrian gasps, baring his neck obligingly for Trevor as Sypha continues with her studious ministrations.  
  
He arches his back as Trevor leans down and bites his neck, sucking hard enough to leave a trail of love bites across his collarbone.  
  
“Adrian,” Sypha says firmly. Her speed increases and she can feel the way he responds, bucking his hips desperately into her hands. “I want you to come for us.”  
  
He cries out again, nodding frantically as Sypha gives a little twist and pulls off and he just dissolves under their attention, so overwhelmed as he bucks again and Sypha puts her weight on his thigh, holding him down.  
  
Adrian’s whole body shudders as he curls in on himself. Sypha uses her pajama bottoms to wipe her hand off before she climbs over him so she can wrap herself around him from behind while Trevor leans their foreheads together, stroking Adrian’s cheek.  
  
“I love you,” Adrian murmurs, eyes half-lidded. His body still trembles under them both.  
  
Sypha gives his waist a squeeze and presses a kiss to his shoulder blade. “We know,” she whispers.  
  
Trevor brushes Adrian’s hair out of his face and tucks it carefully behind his ear. “We love you, too.” 

* * *

_Sypha dreams of dreaming._

_Something jolts her awake and Sypha sits up, looking around to figure out the source. Trevor grumbles in his sleep as she disturbs him, throwing his arm around her waist subconsciously._  
  
_“What is it?” Alucard mumbles to her left, half-asleep._  
  
_Again, that sense of wrongness_ pings _in her mind like an alarm. Sypha’s eyes widen as she shoves the covers off and scrambles out of bed._  
  
_“The barrier,” she says quickly, sliding her feet into sandals. “Someone’s crossed the barrier—”_  
  
_That galvanizes the other two. Trevor grabs the Morning Star from his bedside table as he rolls out of bed. He doesn’t bother with a shirt or pants, clad only in his underwear as he sprints for the stairs. Alucard’s not wearing a shirt, either, but he has the decency to grab a pair of pants as he follows Trevor downstairs._  
  
_The house is quiet when they get downstairs, though. She jogs down the stairs as Trevor widens his stance and prepares the Morning Star. “Where are they?” Trevor says._  
  
_“It doesn’t work like that,” Sypha sniffs. But nothing looks disturbed, and Sypha would have known if something had broached the outer perimeter of their land and the walls of the house…_  
  
_Alucard’s eyes widen. “The castle.” The castle, where they’d begun the slow process of transferring Dracula’s library and collection of knowledge into the Belmont Hold but hadn’t yet finished._  
  
_He rushes out of the house before Trevor and Sypha can catch him, throwing open the kitchen door to the back yard and speeding through the forest towards his childhood home._  
  
_The full moon shines bright behind them, illuminating the castle behind drifting clouds as Trevor and Sypha give chase. They can’t keep up with him, but the moon guides them straight to him._  
  
_Alucard stands in the open doorway of the castle, facing someone inside that they can’t see. “Return it,” he orders._  
  
_“I do not listen to fledglings like you,” an unfamiliar voice scoffs._  
  
_Trevor and Sypha come up to flank Alucard as the clouds part and illuminate the man inside._  
  
_“I will not play this game with you,” Alucard says. “Return the book, it is mine by birthright.”_  
  
_Trevor and Sypha both look down at the man’s hands and the book he holds there, and he hisses the instant he sees where their gazes have travelled, flashing two pointed fangs. Vampire._  
  
_“I am not playing,” the vampire spits. “Though it appears you_ _are. I see it_ _’s true what they said about you. Playing house with two humans, and a Belmont no less.”_  
  
_“Hey!”_  
  
_The vampire ignores Trevor’s outburst. “You are weak, just as your father was weak.”_  
  
_Alucard bristles at the insult— though whether to himself or to his father, Sypha can’t decipher. “My father was many things,” he says. “But he was not weak.”_  
  
_“He lost himself to grief at the death of his human wife,” the vampire scoffs. “How is that anything but? Humans are pets, and nothing more.”_  
  
_“You’re wrong.”_  
  
_“Am I?” The vampire gives him a look of pity. “Surely you’re not so far gone as to truly believe that. What will you do when they die long before you? Even a mutt such as you will live long after they’re gone. No; you should be with us who will understand you, not them. Dhampirs aren’t unheard of, after all. Do you know anything of what you are, beyond what Dracula taught you?”_  
  
_Alucard hesitates for the first time, and the vampire seizes on that._  
  
_“There’s so much we could teach you—so much I could teach you. I am as you are, Alucard son of Dracula. My mother was human as well. Weak, and so quick to fade—”_

_"Enough!” Alucard booms._

_The vampire continues as if Alucard hadn’t said anything. “Do you even understand yet how long the life before you will be? You’re just a child, but your father lived for ages before your mother, and he could have lived for ages on if not for his weak will. You think you love these creatures now because you have no idea of the span of existence that is before you. In your short life you think you’re like them, but you’re not. They will age and grow old and wither away and you will still be here. Their existence is but the blink of an eye. Do you really want to pay witness to their deaths? I was like you, once: thinking I was more kin to the humanity in me than the vampire, but now I know it is not so. Let me help you.”_  
  
_Trevor sees the panicked look on Alucard’s face for the first time and steps forward. “I’ve heard enough,” he barks, uncoiling the Morning Star. “Give us the book and leave.”_  
  
_The vampire glances between their faces and shrugs. “Very well,” he says. “I see you do not wish to listen to me; that’s—fine—” He drops the book and spreads his arms out to his sides, palms down, then brings them back to his center of being in one swift motion, palms facing each other and stacked one above the other, not touching._  
  
_Ice grows from the ground, encasing Alucard fully in ice from head to toe._  
  
_“Alucard!” Sypha’s quick to reverse the enchantment, following the man’s motions in reverse._  
  
_“Find me when you decide not to linger with these dead men walking!” The man says, a final parting blow as he grabs the spell book and flies into the air._  
  
_Trevor throws out the Morning Star as Sypha melts the ice from Alucard’s body, and it grazes the vampire as he runs along the wall. He hisses in pain but pushes on, leaping to the ground ten feet past them on the outside steps._  
  
_The three of them turn as one, watching as he lifts one hand into the air with a flourish. He pulls the moisture from the air like it’s nothing, leaving little beads of water to hang in the air for a split second all around them._  
  
_And then he snaps his fingers, and the beads boil instantaneously, melting into steam that leaves them coughing and unable to see one another, much less their target._  
  
_“Shit!” Trevor stumbles forward, still trying to catch the vampire, but the steam burns his body everywhere and he hisses in pain—and then it’s gone as Sypha works to clear the air with a gust of wind. Their skin is pink and raw, tender and sensitive to the touch, but that doesn’t matter._  
  
The steam is gone, but so is he.


	21. Part II | Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get ready for the fluff. This chapter and the next are sugary sweet because it's what they deserve, but we're quickly building towards the end, and that means some unpleasant truths will be revealed.

Sypha wakes with a start, gasping.  
  
“Whoa,” Trevor grumbles beside her, voice raspy with sleep as he sits up slightly. “Something spook you?”  
  
Sypha rubs at her skin, but it feels fine; no tenderness, not even a little red. “No,” she says after a second, shaking her head. “Or—I don’t know. Perhaps.”  
  
He sits up the rest of the way with only minimal grumbling, for which Sypha is grateful. “What’s wrong?”  
  
“I had a dream—no.” She shakes her head and looks down at Adrian, still sleeping. “It was a memory. Of the night the spell book was stolen, I think.”  
  
She reaches out and smooths her thumb over Adrian’s cheek, the vampire’s words repeating in her head. Adrian stirs at her touch, pale blond eyelashes fluttering as he comes to.  
  
“Good morning,” he whispers.  
  
Sypha smiles, feeling better already in the light of day with her boys beside her. “Good morning,” she returns. “Did we have some sort of barrier around this place?”  
  
Adrian furrows his brow but nods as he sits up, too. “Interesting way to start the morning,” he muses. “But yes. Although I imagine it would have been broken when the gate at the driveway fell apart.”  
  
“We should repair it,” Sypha says definitively.  
  
Adrian nods thoughtfully. “Alright. I’m sure we can find the spell you used initially written down somewhere for such a case as this.”  
  
Their plan for the day decided, the trio make breakfast together before Sypha disappears down into the Hold to find the spell they need.  
  
Trevor bothers her all throughout breakfast, sneaking up behind her to wrap his arms around her waist and kissing the back of her ear when he should be pulling ingredients from the fridge.  
  
Adrian joins in the fun, too, putting on some classical song on his phone before he sweeps Sypha up in his arms and begins to spin her around in some elaborate waltz. He looks elegant with everything he does, but ballroom dances certainly aren’t something taught to Speaker children and she nearly laughs herself sick as she tries and fails to follow his lead. And when Trevor crosses his arms and pouts good-naturedly, Adrian releases Sypha’s hands and pulls Trevor in instead, spinning him around the kitchen until the other man is laughing, too, loud and deep.  
  
It takes over an hour for Sypha to finally make it down to the Hold, leaving Trevor and Adrian to drive into the nearest city to gather parts to repair the gate.  
  
She wanders through the bookshelves with a vague and impermeable knowledge of where the relevant spell should be; it takes a bit of time, the book having been moved by some ancestor of Trevor’s. Descendants? _That_ raises strange questions that she quickly puts aside.  
  
“Ah-hah!”  
  
She pulls the leatherbound book from the bookshelf, flipping through it. It’s smaller than most of the others, about half the size of a standard sheet of paper, but it’s also stuffed full with notes. She flips through the whole thing quickly, filled with a wave of déjà vu as she realizes— _  
  
This is _my _handwriting._  
  
It’s not identical, of course, the _g_ _’_ s looped different and the _i_ _’_ s curved at the base, but she knows this long, scrawling writing.  
  
There’s a diagram of the broken mirror and its runes near the back that she skims past before she flips to the beginning again, taking it more slowly in search of the right page. It’s not just a spell book like the others, nor a history or an instruction manual.   
  
It’s a journal. Born of a desire to ensure no more knowledge was lost, perhaps, but a living thing nonetheless, written with no audience in mind but one. There’s lists of spell components, and more mundane shopping lists half-crossed out; and there are doodles in the margins, caricatures that must be Trevor and Adrian bickering with each other. She runs her thumb over the doodled scruff of Trevor’s cheek and the big eyes and long hair of Adrian and laughs at the funnier arguments she’s surely immortalized.  
  
She finally finds what she’s looking for about thirty pages in, a protection ward that must be what she had used when the house had first been rebuilt. She recognizes some Speaker magic to it, things she’d heard stories of but never witnessed firsthand.  
  
Sypha brings the book up to the surface, reading through the instructions again and again to make sure she has it memorized. She texts Trevor and Adrian both a few things she needs from the hardware store for the spell, and then drops the book on the kitchen counter to practice the somatic elements she’s laid out.  
  
From: Trevor Belmont | 12:36 PM  
What’s ur shoe size?  
  
To: Trevor Belmont | 12:37 PM  
?  
  
From: Trevor Belmont | 12:39 PM  
:^)  
  
To: Trevor Belmont | 12:41 PM  
…I’m trusting you even though I shouldn’t. 37.  
  
The boys return home about two hours after that, laden down with a car full of supplies. Power tools and hinges and fresh sheets, as well as things that had been forgotten in their first shopping run: toiletries and miscellaneous spices and coats and hats to replace the ones that had been forgotten back in the US.  
  
And wire. Lots and lots of wire.  
  
“Is this a magic thing?” Trevor asks as he passes it over to her.  
  
Sypha laughs and nods, taking it. “Don’t be so hasty, you’ll be the ones laying it down for me.”  
  
“Can’t we just sit and take a second before we go work?” Trevor complains.  
  
“Nope!” she pats his chest. “The two of you burned a lot of sunlight on your shopping spree, and I’d like to finish this before it gets dark.”  
  
Trevor sighs, but she’s quick to give him a kiss as she jogs past him down the stairs, and he and Adrian follow dutifully behind her as they head back down the driveway.  
  
They have to fix the gate before they can do anything. Trevor hammers the bent posts straight and digs them into the frozen ground as Adrian pulls off the broken hinges and scrubs down the wrought iron with a rust-remover. It doesn’t clean the whole thing, but it gets the bulk of it and allows him to bend some of the spokes back into place from where they’d been deformed.

 “I formally waived the insurance claim on the exhibit while we were in the city,” Adrian says as they work. Trevor and Sypha both slow the work they’re doing to look up at him. Adrian’s quiet for a beat before he continues. “And I _also_ called an associate of mine. Someone I could trust to check in on the the situation in Hawthorne.”

 “What did they say?”

 Adrian sets down his tools and rests his hands in his lap, looking off into space as he speaks. “By dropping my claim, the police have no further reason to pursue our thieves. While I’m sure they’re unhappy with being forced to stop their quest to prove my involvement in the matter, there’s little they can do about it.”

 “And Mitch?” Trevor asks, voice tense.

 “…Still officially considered a missing person along with the other sacrifices. From the sounds of things, the police still have no leads, which is good for us. Unfortunately, I’m sure people are getting scared. _But,_ to that end, Jennifer resigned from her position without warning the day after we left and has disappeared.”

 “So they’re coming after us after all,” Sypha says. “Good. I was getting worried they wouldn’t take the bait.”

 Adrian nods. “Yes, I believe so. Hopefully that means the disappearances will end, but we must be ready for them when they come.”

 “We will be,” Sypha declares.

 They let that energy carry them on for another twenty minutes of silence before Trevor speaks again.  
  
“Sypha,” he says; the woman looks up, but he’s not looking at her—he keeps his eyes trained on the post he’s working on.  
  
“Yes, Trevor?”  
  
“What do you think you’re going to do, after this is over?”  
  
She looks surprised at the question. “Honestly, I…hadn’t thought about it. I guess I just thought I would return to school when this was all over. Why, is that not what you’re planning?”  
  
Trevor doesn’t answer immediately, so Adrian speaks up in his place from a few feet away. “What did you tell the school about your abrupt disappearance?”  
  
Sypha waves her hand dismissively. “I told them my father died. It’s okay, he’s dead anyway so it’s not like they have any way to prove it.” She laughs.  
  
“I don’t think I want to go back to school,” Trevor says as if she hadn’t spoken. She stops laughing, looking at him in surprise, but he still won’t look at her; he’s stopped working, though, staring down at the post with an intense look on his face.   
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“I just—why does it matter, you know what I mean? I wasn’t _going_ for anything, I didn’t care about what I was learning about, not like you did. I just—went because. I don’t know. But all this, here…I dunno, I guess this just feels right in a way, y’know? Does that sound fucked up?”  
  
The whole time he speaks, there’s a just-off tone to his voice that it takes until the end of his rant for Sypha to place: he’s looking for validation.  
  
Sypha shares a look with Adrian, who seems to be thinking much the same thing, before she speaks. “I think that makes perfect sense.”  
  
“I—what?” Whatever he was expecting, it wasn’t that. “Really?”  
  
She nods. “Do you want to know what I really think? I think you are doing what you were born for; and you’re better for it. When we first met you didn’t know _what_ you wanted to do with your life; you weren’t doing anything wrong, but it was like you were just existing. But now I can see how you’ve begun to come into your own in this short amount of time, and I can’t wait to see how you will grow even further now that you’ve found what you were meant to be doing.”  
  
Trevor smiles at her, slow at first then growing as he realizes she’s saying everything he didn’t realize he wanted to hear. “Well then,” he says. “Consider this my resignation—I quit!”  
  
“I don’t think that’s quite how it works,” Adrian teases him quietly from behind.  
  
“Shut up,” Trevor says with no heat. He lets go of the post and turns around to look at Adrian. Adrian looks up from where he’s crouched over the wrought iron gate on the the ground, eyes widening as Trevor takes two large strides closer and reaches down, grabbing Adrian on either side of his face—hands grimy with mud—and hauls him up for a kiss.  
  
Adrian resists only briefly—more to the dirt on Trevor’s hands than to the kiss itself—though he quickly reaches up to cover Trevor’s hands with his own, eyes closing.  
  
Trevor pulls away, squeezing Adrian’s cheeks, and then does the same thing to Sypha.  
  
Sypha laughs, batting Trevor’s hands away. “Stop!” she says through laughter. “You’re filthy!”  
  
“I love you,” he says instead of answering. And Sypha thinks maybe she should be caught off-guard, or surprised, but instead it just feels like it’s the most natural thing in the world.  
  
“I love you, too,” she tells him, her expression going soft. “But love won’t get that gate fixed! Keep working, Belmont!”  
  
Trevor laughs as he does as he’s told.  
  
There’s no chance of them finishing before sunset; they mount the gate between the two posts just as the sun begins to set behind the mountains to their right, and they have to go inside to warm up as the air begins to rapidly cool. Still, Sypha’s not ready to stop quite yet. None of them are, now that they’re more keenly aware of just how defenseless the house is.  
  
They stop just long enough to make coffee and re-dress in hats and scarves and gloves before they head back outside armed with flashlights.  
  
They head down to the gate, so Sypha can tie the thin wire around the right-hand gate post. The boys trail behind her as she heads into the forest, unwinding the string of wire as she walks.  
  
“So what exactly is this supposed to do?” Trevor asks out of curiosity.  
  
“Foot off the thread,” Sypha tells him shortly. Trevor looks down and lifts his foot up as he was told.  
  
“Sorry.”  
  
“It’s a protective barrier,” Sypha answers. “Make sure it doesn’t get caught on anything, we want it to be as close to the ground as possible. It was created to direct away those who wish to cause harm.”  
  
“Direct away?” Trevor repeats. “So it won’t actually stop a person?”  
  
“Correct,” Adrian answers instead of Sypha this time. “From what I recall, it was designed as a way to turn away those with a generalized sort of anger. It imparts on them the…suggestion that there are better places to direct their anger, away from here. So it might work on a disenfranchised town person unhappy with their lot in life and looking for someone to take it out on, but would work less so on an individual who came here with a targeted grudge against you.  
  
“It also, of course, depends on the will of the person attempting to cross the border. Your average citizen with a grudge against you—” (“I’m sure there’s a lot of those,” Sypha interjects) “—still might be turned away should they possess a weak will.”  
  
“I’m glad I understood the intent of the spell correctly,” Sypha says, looking proud.  
  
Trevor is quiet for a moment, still considering Adrian’s explanation.  
  
“You’re thinking,” Adrian murmurs beside him, nudging Trevor’s shoulder with his own.  
  
“Huh? Oh. Yeah. I just…” He looks down at the wire; it’s caught in a small bramble bush and he crouches down to pick it out, watching the way it catches the moonlight and shines. “Did you write this spell, Sypha?”  
  
Sypha looks back at them from several yards ahead of them. “Hm? You mean before? Yes, I believe so.”  
  
Trevor nods, laying the thread on the ground and smoothing it out before he stands back up to put his hands in his pockets.  
  
“Why?” she asks curiously—but Trevor just shakes his head.  
  
Adrian and Sypha share a look between them, debating whether to push it; in the end, they don’t have to. Trevor makes the choice for them.  
  
“It’s only—I think you wrote it for me.”  
  
Sypha furrows her brow, trying to connect the dots, before she makes the connection and her mouth forms a little ‘o’.  
  
“Your family,” Adrian clarifies.  
  
Trevor nods. He’s still watching the wire as it catches the moonlight, but looks up and glances between the two of them. “I think…you wrote it after I told you I—”  
  
“—wasn’t sleeping well with people returning to the town,” Sypha finishes for him. She looks down at the wire before she walks back to them so she can stop in front of Trevor. “I remember that.”  
  
“Always thinking about others,” Trevor says softly. He pulls off a glove so he can touch her cheek and Sypha closes her eyes, leaning into the touch.  
  
“Do the two of you remember everything?” Adrian asks. There’s something off in his tone that neither of them can identify.  
  
“No,” Trevor says as Sypha opens her eyes and lets out a breath. “Or at least I don’t.”  
  
“I don’t, either,” Sypha agrees. “It feels like—like I’m piecing together a puzzle, almost.” She takes a few steps backwards, reaching for Trevor’s hand as she starts to lay the wire out again.  
  
“What she said,” Trevor concurs. “It’s like—sometimes I’ll get vague feelings or a sense of déjà vu. Usually it’s just dreams.”  
  
 “And I think being here is helping,” Sypha adds.  
  
Adrian hums in thought, and the three of them walk on in silence for a few moments before he speaks up again. “Do either of you remember the first summer festival after we stopped my father?”  
  
Sypha notes the way he avoids the word “killed,” but doesn’t say anything. “Yes,” she says slowly; thoughtfully. “It wasn’t the first summer, right? We were hunting Carmilla then. And then we returned here and built the house…”  
  
“It was the summer after,” Trevor says, nodding.  
  
Adrian nods. “Yes,” he says quietly. “Sypha did magic tricks for the children even though we both told her it was dangerous. I was convinced she would be accused of witchcraft.”  
  
“But the villagers didn’t say anything.” Sypha smiles as the memory returns to her. It’s hazy around the edges, like a good memory from childhood; all of the emotion with little real substance with all these years between then and now. “They knew who we were.”  
  
Adrian nods. “I suspect so.”  
  
“And then…” Trevor furrows his brow, thinking. “We danced.”  
  
Sypha laughs a little. “I’d forgotten that part,” she says; but how could she have forgotten it, when it fills her with such warmth now. Trevor had grabbed her and spun her around and around, taking her through some half-waltz only partially-remembered from childhood. Adrian had stood off to the side, silently observing the two of them with a small smile on his otherwise blank face.  
  
So Sypha had done the only rational thing and spun away from Trevor, grabbing Adrian’s hands to pull him into the middle of the makeshift dance floor as the other villagers had clapped in time to the music.  
  
“Children were climbing all over you!” Sypha recalls to Trevor, looking over her shoulder to laugh at him. “I think they must have thought you were monkey bars.”  
  
Trevor groans and scratches the back of his neck. “I didn’t need to remember that part,” he complains; still, he’s smiling.  
  
They spend the rest of the time like that, comparing memories to see what they remember. All in all it takes them almost four hours to loop all the way around and back to the front gate.  
  
“Sypha…” Trevor moans as he shifts from foot to foot.  
  
“Shush,” she tells him, bringing a hand to her lips before she ties the wire off on the left-hand fence post and brings it to a full circle. She sets the journal down on the ground, moving to stand in the center of the gate. The moon offers just enough light for her to make out the magic circle drawn in the book, and she traces it in the air inches from the wrought iron.  
  
Sypha claps her hands together, eyes closed, and thinks with intent of protecting her boys from those who would do them harm. She thinks of Jennifer and Kisa and Josiah—and Mitch. They weren’t able to protect her, but they could do the next best thing in her honor.  
  
“Whoa,” Trevor says.  
  
Sypha unclaps her hands and turns them outward from her body as she opens her eyes—to a brilliant, shimmering pink-white light emanating from the magic circle she’d just drawn. It follows the curves of the gate until the wrought-iron is glowing before their eyes, and then it’s shooting out along either side of the wire they’d laid down, lighting it up. Sypha can feel through her own body as her magic infuses the wire and traces the line of the outer perimeter, and the exact moment both sides meet on the other side of the property.  
  
For a brief moment, light catches in the air above the wire as if an invisible glass wall hangs there—and then it’s gone, and all that’s left is the moonlight.  
  
“Did you do it?” Trevor asks redundantly.  
  
Sypha exhales, still feeling the magic coursing through her veins. “Yes,” she says. “I did it.”


	22. Part II | Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, long time no post. Don't worry, this fic is still going strong, this has just been a really crazy couple weeks. My family dog passed away two weeks ago, and then this last weekend I started work at my second job, and then _this_ week I finally got the job offer on my first job that I've been hoping/waiting for.
> 
> Enjoy this 4k beast to make up for it!

The more things change, the more they stay the same. They spend the next few days around the house, warm and content. Sypha tracks down the second half of the spell book and reunites the two, slipping the pages that had been hidden in the Belmont Hold back into the leather binding and tying a cord around the book to keep them together.  
  
She skims the book, briefly, but the magic inside wears its malignancy proudly; she closes the book quickly and swears it off, tucking it away in the Hold where it cannot be found. She is a magician, but she serves no evil here.  
  
Mostly, they prepare for Jennifer and her cohorts. Sypha studies her spell books as Trevor and Adrian spar outside in the cold sunlight during the day, and at night she and Adrian begin to work on the mirror together, sanding down the destroyed frame so the characters can be re-written. Adrian begins to teach her the language, slowly but surely; there’s no books in the Hold on the language, which she finds strange since they’d found the mirror here, but Adrian tells her he has some books on the subject in a safety deposit box that they can move into the library.  
  
Trevor and Adrian begin to steadily come back to themselves as the days pass. Trevor smiles a bit more easily, laughs a bit more loudly. Despite the ever present knowledge of what they’ve come here to do, those weeks become the best of her life.  
  
Trevor finds the Morning Star one such day, locked in a weapon’s vault that he’d found a few days previous and had started working at the lock when none of them had been able to find the key.  
  
He’d gone upstairs to his father’s old study, coming back down thirty minutes later with a handful of paper clips and needle nose pliers. He’d sat at one of the tables with Sypha and Adrian, silently bending the paper clips in his seat as they’d studied.  
  
“What…are you doing?” Sypha asked as he unfolded one of the paper clips and began to bend it one way, then the other.  
  
Trevor grunted. “Making lock picking tools.”  
  
“You know how to do that?”  
  
He’d grunted again, making a noise of annoyance as he’d bended the wire too far and snapped the metal. “Dammit…”  
  
They’d left him to it, looking up occasionally to watch him work but otherwise keeping to themselves until he’d finished and gone back to the door.  
  
Sypha and Adrian had both stood over him curiously as he’d crouched in front of the door, inserting the tension wrench and fiddling around with the rake until the lock had given way under his hands.  
  
“Naughty Belmont,” Adrian had murmured as Trevor stood up and dusted off his pants.  
  
“Oh, shut up.”  
  
“Where’d you learn to do that?” Sypha asked a bit more tactfully. “You couldn’t do that before.”  
  
He’d shrugged as he’d slowly pushed open the door. “Picked it up back in the orphanage—oh holy shit.”  
  
The lighting was dim inside, just bright enough to make out the shine of the weapons lining the wall. Long swords, short swords, bows and arrows, and a huge Great Axe—it was a complete armory.  
  
And in the very back, tucked away like it had been forgotten many years ago: the Morning Star.  
  
Sypha had tried her best to resist commenting, but, “that thing is just as hideous as I remembered.”  
  
Adrian had let out a huff of laughter. “Indeed.”  
  
So Trevor had taken it out and begun to train with the Morning Star, too, though Adrian told him in no uncertain words that he would not be practicing with him while he used it.  
  
“Scared, Adrian?” Trevor taunted.  
  
“Self-preservative, _Belmont,_ _”_ Adrian corrected. “I’ve been on the receiving end of that before, and I would prefer not to repeat that mistake.”  
  
Neither of them remember _that,_ but Adrian had clammed up after that, too embarrassed to speak further.  
  
And then, the night before Trevor’s birthday, it snows.  
  
Sypha remembers the date from her student log, and she spends the days building up to it trying to decide on a birthday present. Adrian reminds her candidly that Trevor’s never been much for material gifts, especially growing up on his own.  
  
“He’ll be happy to know you thought of him at all,” Adrian says kindly.  
  
Adrian’s right, of course. They wake Trevor on his birthday with an enthusiastic good morning. And then another, before they finally get up to make breakfast together.  
  
The house is blanketed in snow, the first full snow they’ve gotten since being here—not slush or ice, but real powder. It’s picturesque, as long as they’re inside and cozied up back in bed.  
  
So of course Trevor wants to go outside.  
  
“Do we _really_ have to?” Sypha moans even as she wraps a white scarf around her neck and fits a pair of earmuffs over her ears. Adrian wears a beautiful cableknit sweater under a black coat and leaves his hair loose, while Trevor just adds a jacket on over his sweatshirt and pulls a beanie on.  
  
“I thought we could go to the nearby pond,” Trevor admits. “I think it should be frozen enough for us to skate on.”  
  
“We don’t have skates,” Sypha reminds him.  
But Trevor smiles that smile that says, _I know something you don_ _’t know._

Sypha furrows her brow, then lets out a little gasp. “You didn’t—”

Trevor leaves the room, leaving Sypha to follow him out into the hall as he goes into the cupboard under the staircase—and comes back out a moment later holding three pairs of ice skates.

“ _This_ is why you wanted my shoe size?” she asks with a laugh.

Trevor shrugs. He’s already tying the laces together so he can hang the skates around his neck. “So are you coming or what?” 

It’s not even a question.

* * *

Trevor’s right: the pond is frozen.

It’s nearly a thirty minute trek through the snow to get there, but the red nose and frozen fingers are completely worth it for the look of delight on Trevor’s face as he takes one look at the pale blue ice coating the pond.  
  
“I was a tad worried when I saw the snow this morning,” Adrian murmurs to Sypha as Trevor runs ahead to begin testing the ice. “He told me this is what he wanted to do for his birthday, and I feared the snow would offer too much insulation, especially so early in the season, but I see the past few weeks have been enough to freeze it well enough.”

Satisfied that even the center was capable of taking his weight, Trevor comes back to the edge of the ice to swap out his shoes for his skates. “Are the two of you coming or are you going to whisper about me all day?” he calls out.

“We’re coming, we’re coming,” Sypha calls, laughing. She takes Adrian’s hand to drag him obligingly down to the edge of the pond and starts trading her shoes for skates, too.

“I’ll wait here,” Adrian says. 

Trevor and Sypha both share a look.  
  
“Adrian…” Sypha begins slowly.

“Do you not know how to skate?” Trevor finishes.

“I know how to skate,” he disagrees immediately.

“That doesn’t sound like someone who knows how to skate,” Sypha says.

“I…” he glances between the two of them. Sighs. “There’s no getting out of this, is there?”

“Nope!”

He sighs again, and joins them on the ground to begin swapping out his shoes. “Very well. I’ve been outnumbered.”

He’s terrible.

It brings Trevor and Sypha both great delight as they get onto the ice and begin to skate circles around him; both to see the great Adrian Țepeș fail horribly at something, and also for the way he tends to cling to them both as he does his best approximation of what skating _should_ look like.

“I can’t believe you’re so bad at this!” Trevor hollers as he does a lap. Sypha giggles from her spot next to Adrian, but keeps her arm generously wrapped around his waist.

“It was simply not something I ever did as a child!” he defends immediately.

“Be nice, Trevor,” Sypha tells him, before she smiles slyly. “Some people are so perfect that can’t handle being bad at something.”

Adrian’s nearly about to thank her, but it dies in his throat. He glowers at her instead, until Sypha laughs and skates off to catch up with Trevor instead.

They don’t leave him for too long, though; never so cruel as that. Trevor and Sypha skate around in a circle before coming up on either side of Adrian to keep him upright together. And by their third lap, Adrian even looks like he finally has the basics down, at the least. He stays on hisfeet and hardly wobbles even on the turns, so long as they don’t take it too fast.

“I haven’t done this since I was a girl!” Sypha says happily as she pulls ahead of the boys to start skating backwards.

“Showoff,” Trevor teases.

“Of course,” Sypha agrees cheekily. She turns back around and picks up speed, leaving Trevor and Adrian in the dust.

They’re out there for over an hour; Adrian’s the first off the ice, but he gives it a valiant thirty minutes and kisses them both on his final lap of his own before he skates back to shore. Trevor and Sypha skate around each other after that, doing figure eights and careful spins. They all fall at least once, but the ice holds and no one’s the worse for wear. Adrian watches quietly until eventually even they’re tired and cold enough to return to shore.

“Happy birthday, Trevor,” Sypha says as they march through the forest back to the house. 

Trevor kisses her hard on the mouth.

* * *

 Trevor seems off after his birthday.

Sypha struggles to put words to it when she talks to Adrian about it downstairs as they continue working on the distance mirror. It’s not that he’s quieter, really, it’s just that in the quiet moments she catches him lost in thought, staring off into space.

“You’re right,” Adrian says wryly. “Trevor, thinking? There _must_ be something wrong with him.”

Sypha scoffs and shoves his shoulder as Adrian chuckles. “You two are _terrible_ ,” she tells him.

Still, his expression grows serious as he considers her observations. “I hadn’t noticed,” he admits. “But I’ll keep an eye out. Hopefully it’s nothing.”

“Hopefully,” she agrees. “It’s only—I thought he was getting better. And I know it’s not as simple as being okay and being not-okay—there’s going to be good days and bad days and in-between days, and they won’t always be in order. I just…”

“Worry,” Adrian supplies. Sypha nods, staring down at her hands without really seeing them.

Adrian’s turned completely from where he was crouched in front of the mirror by this point, watching Sypha. He stands and moves over to her, resting his hand on her shoulder. “It’s alright to worry,” he reminds her. “It seems he’s unused to even that, so I’m sure he appreciates it. Even if he doesn’t know how to talk about his emotions any better than a toddler.”

 _“Adrian…_ ”

He chuckles again and holds up both hands in surrender. “Like I said: I’ll keep an eye on him.”

So of course that’s when they hit a dead-end with the mirror and Adrian decides their best course of action is fetching his books on Chaldaic from his security deposit box in Gresit. “I’m fairly certain I could do it from memory, but it _has_ been quite a while since I last used Chaldaic, and I am, admittedly, a bit rusty. Besides, you should learn it, too, should something happen to me.”

“Are you planning on something happening to you?” she asks wryly.

“No,” he says after a moment, the word weighted in a way Sypha can’t place. “But it never hurts to be prepared.”

Sypha frowns, but she drops it when he seems to move on. “Fine. But are you sure you don’t want me to come?”

Adrian smiles and nods as he buttons his coat. “I appreciate the offer, but I promise there’s no reason we should both suffer a six-hour car ride when there’s other things you can be working on. I know you were almost finished reading that book on magic circles. Besides, you should keep an eye on Trevor.”

“Why are you keeping an eye on me?” Trevor asks as he wanders in from the kitchen.

“To make sure you don’t take your eye out with that thing,” Adrian comments, nodding to the Morning Star curled through Trevor’s belt.

“The only one at risk from the Morning Star is _you_ , Adrian,” Trevor throws back.

Adrian rolls his eyes. “As I was saying: don’t worry about me,” he assures Sypha. “I’ll probably take some time to wrap up some loose ends with the exhibit, while I’m there. My cell reception is abysmal out here, as is my Internet connection.”

“Oh, yeah,” Sypha frowns slightly. “Wasn’t the exhibit supposed to go somewhere else after Hawthorne? What are you going to do?”

“We have a contract with the Penn for six months in January. Luckily my regular company knows how to set up and take apart the whole display, so I’ll simply have to call the curator and explain my lack of appearance.”

He kisses them both before he heads out. Trevor and Sypha stand on the doorstep watching until his car is out of sight, and Sypha expects Trevor to press her for more details on Adrian’s comment, but he doesn’t.

“I heard a Speaker tribe came in last night, when I went to put gas in the car this morning,” Trevor says instead as they head back inside. “Did you want to go see them?”

That gives her pause. _Does_ she want to go see them? Of course she misses her family, and all Speakers are her spiritual brothers and sisters in that regard—but she also can’t help the feeling that she’s in a story, unfinished, and in a way it feels wrong to go to them without this story to tell.

“No,” she decides finally. “I’ll find my grandparents when this is all over. Besides, I don’t feel like being lectured by someone who doesn’t even know me.”

“Fair enough,” Trevor concedes, chuckling as he follows Sypha into the library. She curls up in one of the comfy armchairs, because Adrian was right: she’s almost finished with a book on offensive and defensive magic circles that she’d brought up from downstairs. It’s a fascinating deconstruction of Eastern versus Western magic, marrying the two in an inspired display of arcane knowledge.

Trevor lingers in the doorway, silent, until Sypha gives him a look. _“Yes,_ Trevor?”

He freezes, then shakes his head. “Nothing, sorry,” he mutters before fleeing.

Except he does it two more times in the next hour.  She hears him go outside at one point and sees him through the floor-to-ceiling windows practicing with the Morning Star. He’s getting really good with it—better than good, actually; but she can tell he’s off his game today, missing the targets he and Adrian set up several weeks ago for training. He gives up pretty quickly, coming back inside after only fifteen minutes. She hears him moving about in the kitchen for a few minutes before he comes back to the library and stands in the doorway, just watching her.

And Sypha _tries_ to be understanding, she really does; she doesn’t want to push him too hard too fast about whatever’s been on his mind, or he’ll clam up faster than she can get the words out.

But. It’s. Distracting.

“Can I _help you_ , Trevor?” she asks as evenly as she can manage.

“Yes, actually,” he says.

Sypha blinks, so surprised by his answer that the look of annoyance quickly evaporates from her face as he comes fully into the room and takes a seat in the armchair closest to hers. He leans forward in it, interlocking his hands and leaning forward on his knees. “I—I want to talk to you.”

She closes her book and sets it to the side, giving him her undivided attention. “You can talk to me about anything.”

He looks away, seeming to try to figure out where to start. Sypha lets him take all the time he needs.

“…Mitch,” he starts eventually. “When she first met me…I could tell she was worried about me. Before she even knew me. I spent a lot of time thinking that was pity, and I never…opened myself up to it, I guess. No matter how close we got, it was like I could never let that barrier down. She was there for me, quite literally, when no one else was. But we never— _I_ never let her close enough for it to matter. She helped keep me off the streets and she never even knew how much she did for me.”

“Trevor…she understood.” Sypha reaches out for him, squeezing his thighs with light pressure to remind him that she’s here, grounding him. “Trust me:  she never needed you to explain yourself, she just wanted to help. She _cared_ about you, and I think she understood how much you cared about her in return, even if you couldn’t say it.”

Trevor clears his throat gruffly and holds Sypha’s gaze for one long moment before he looks away. “Still,” he says. “I should have done more to show it. I could have been a better friend. And there’s a point to all of this, and it’s not just to sit here feeling sorry for myself. This whole time, I’ve been trying to figure out what I could do to…I dunno—honor her, I guess.” He sighs. “No, that sounds stupid—”

“It doesn’t sound stupid,” she tells him emphatically. “It doesn’t sound stupid at all.”

Trevor reaches out, puts his hand on top of hers, and takes a deep breath. “I think I want to quit drinking. I’ve been a drunk for two lifetimes now, and it’s starting to get pretty fucking old. And I know that might seem weird when she owned a fucking bar, but I think—”

“Trevor.” Sypha’s voice stops him short in his defense, and he looks at her again.

“Yes?”

“You don’t have to defend yourself. I think it’s perfect.”

“You do?” he sounds surprised.

“I do. She always wanted to help you, but she didn’t know how I think she would be happy to know she was able to help you in the end.”

Trevor goes quiet, and Sypha doesn’t try to fill the silence; she just lets Trevor work through whatever is going on in his head. They sit there for five minutes before Trevor pushes himself up on his feet and holds a hand out to help Sypha up. “Help me pour everything out?” 

Sypha smiles and takes his hand. “Sounds like a plan.”

* * *

Trevor walks around the house like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders for the rest of the day, after they’ve talked and dumped all the alcohol in the house. Sypha finishes her book now that Trevor isn’t hovering around her the whole time, and she goes outside to watch him train.

She’s still thinking about the author’s combination of magics as she watches Trevor strip out of his shirt and use it to mop at the sweat on his brow. She briefly considers joining him, but…no. No, she quite likes her view from here.

It _does_ inspire her to think about combining forces with the Morning Star, though. She thinks about it as she watches him spin the whip in the air, wondering if it might be possible to send trails of fire or ice along the chains of the whip. Trevor begins building momentum with the Morning Star until he wraps it around the branch of the closest tree and tries to use it to throw himself in the air to mixed success. He gets the height, managing to flip himself around the branch, but he can’t stick the landing and falls on his arse right into a pile of half-melted slush.

Sypha bursts out laughing.

“Son of a _fuck!_ ” she hears him shout. She watches him stand up and quickly brush himself off, but it’s already too late. He comes stomping back to the house soaking wet and teeth gritted as a particularly cold burst of wind hits him.

“Are you having some trouble there, Trevor?” she teases.

“Shut the fuck up,” he says as he stomps past her.

She’s still laughing as he sheds his boots and storms inside, and she’s just about to follow him inside when she feels—something. She’s not entirely sure what, but she stops in her tracks and turns to look back out over the forest. She tries to put the feeling into words, but it’s hard to pin down—only that it feels malignant.

Trevor’s voice breaks her reverie. “Are you coming?” he shouts as he sticks his head back through the open door.

Sypha jumps, turning back around to look at him. “I—I’ll be in in a moment.”

Trevor gives her a strange look. “…You sure? You want me to come back out and help with something?”

But Sypha just shakes her head. “No,” she calls back. “It’s fine. I’m just going to take a quick walk, alright?”

Trevor continues watching her, frowning, but Sypha doesn’t wait for an answer as she heads out into the forest. She walks until she reaches the perimeter of her spell, bending down to touch the wire there to confirm that it’s untouched. She even gives it a little tug, but it behaves like normal.

Sypha knows logically that it only makes sense. She doesn’t _think_ that the feeling that overcame her was someone crossing the boundary, but she doesn’t have a better explanation for it, so she starts following the wire.

Here in the trees it’s already dark with no sun directly above. She can still see pinks and oranges in the sky up above, but here on the ground it just feels cold and dark and quiet.

Her stomach flips, once, as the sound of crunching foliage reaches her ear behind, and Sypha spins around and lobs a fireball on instinct.

“Whoa, hey, watch it! It’s me!”

Sypha lowers her hands immediately. “Oh my god, Trevor! I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize you’d followed me out here. Wait—why did you follow me out here?” She crosses her arms and gives him an expectant look.

Trevor steps over a broken tree branch on the forest floor, his hands still up in surrender. “You just seemed spooked. Didn’t think either of us should be alone if something was wrong.” He pauses. _“Is_ something wrong?”

Slowly, Sypha turns back around to look at her spell as Trevor comes to her side. “I don’t know,” she says after a moment. “I just felt—something. It’s hard to describe. And it doesn’t even feel like it’s _here,_ really, but I didn’t know what else it could be.”

“Something wicked this way comes,” Trevor intones.

“Indeed.”

They’re both quiet for a moment.

“Well,” Trevor says finally, “you are a Speaker. Your connection with the country is much deeper than most, even after being away for so long. Maybe you just—I dunno. Felt something here, but not _here_ here. You know what I mean?”

Sypha finally looks up at him, nodding slightly. “Maybe,” she agrees.

“Do you still want to walk the perimeter anyway, just in case?” She nods, so Trevor just shrugs. “Well, alright. Didn’t have much better to do back at the house, anyway, besides taking a hot shower.”

Sypha rolls her eyes, but she does feel better that he’s at least taking this seriously.

By the time they finish walking the perimeter it’s long after dark, and everything is as it should be. It only puts Sypha more on edge, but—

“There’s nothing more we can do for now, Sypha,” Trevor reminds her logically. “We’ll stay on high alert, alright?”

He’s right, of course, which Sypha hates. “Fine,” she concedes finally. “Let’s go back.”

“Great, because I’m bloody freezing.”

They shower together as soon as they get back to the house, warming fingers and toes that have gone numb. Sypha spends the whole night feeling on edge, but Trevor does his best to help ease it: making dinner for the both of them and returning her book to her. She itches to continue working on the distance mirror to distract her, but there’s nothing she can do without the books that Adrian’s gone to fetch.

Adrian’s still not home by the time they go to bed, and Sypha lays there for a long time thinking about what Trevor had said. _Something wicked this way comes_ _…_ perhaps he wasn’t entirely wrong. She dozes, finally, just on the edge pf a deeper sleep when the quiet sounds of shuffling wakes her. Sypha sits up slightly so she can catch a glimpse of Adrian stopping in the doorway, shedding his shoes and clothes before he slips into bed to her left. The tension she’d been carrying eases knowing he’s back with them.  
  
“Did I wake you?” Adrian murmurs, voice barely audible. “My apologies.”

Trevor grumbles a little in his sleep, the hand resting on Sypha’s waist reaching out to graze Adrian’s hip.

“I was awake,” she murmurs, only half a lie. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes,” Adrian whispers. “Everything’s alright. Did something happen? You seem tense.”

“No—yes. I don’t know. Just a feeling I’ve had.”

Adrian nods as he reaches out to brush a stray curl out of her face, and there’s something so gently intimate to laying there with scant inches between their faces, just holding one another’s gazes. “Do you want to talk about it?”

She _should,_ but having Adrian back lulls her, and she finally feels the weight of the day on her eyelids, drawing her into sleep. “In the morning,” she whispers. “Did you get the books?”

“Yes,” he tells her.

She nods, satisfied and already half-asleep. “Alright,” she murmurs. “In the morning.”

Sypha dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're heading into endgame now, folks. Strap in, because there won't be much time to get off this ride from here on out. I hope you're excited, and again thank you everyone who's taken the time to read, kudos, comment, etc. Not only has it been great motivation but it's also helped the story several times over, pointing out aspects of things that I hadn't considered, so this fic really wouldn't be what it is without you all.


	23. Part II | Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An important note: This chapter does feature main character death (of the flashback variety). Brace yourself, maybe make yourself a cup of tea before you start this one. It's gonna get worse before it gets better.

_“Trevor, have you seen Alucard anywhere?”_

_Trevor lifts his head from where he_ _’s hunched over the letter he’s writing. It takes him a second to process the question, looking at Sypha with a blank expression before she laughs and sets their laundry basket aside._

_“You,” she says, “need eyeglasses.”_

_“I do not,” Trevor retorts. “That means I’m getting old.”_

_Sypha rolls her eyes._ _“You_ are _old. Anyway, have you talked to Alucard? I wanted to ask him to check the roof today. It looks like rain tonight, and I think there_ _’s a leak in Simon’s room. I’d hate for him to come home to a leaky roof.”_

 _“He’s been sleeping without a roof over his head for two months with_ your _family,_ _” Trevor reminds her, rolling his eyes._

 _“And when he travels with_ my _family, he expects to get rained on. He better not expect that when he gets home._ _”_

_“Haven’t seen him,” he says; he knows when he’s beat. “Did you check the Hold?”_

_Sypha frowns and shakes her head._ _“I checked the Hold and his bedroom; I suppose I could have missed him in the Hold, though. Or maybe he went to town this morning…” Sypha shakes her head and shrugs, picking up the laundry basket again and moving it to her hip. “Can you tell him I’m looking for him if you see him? He was supposed to help me make dinner for everyone tonight. I’m making Sonia’s favourites in celebration.”_

_Trevor grumbles a little but nods, no doubt still sore about Sonia_ _’s first hunt on her own. She’s been gone for two weeks, and her return tonight perfectly coincides with her brother’s return from Sypha’s Speaker clan. Sypha knows Trevor’s proud of Sonia, especially since Simon seemed to take after Sypha with a natural proclivity for magic; but it also, as he said, means he’s getting old. She doesn’t call him on it, though, just lets him get back to the letter he’s writing. She listens to him sounding out words as he writes as she leaves; his hand for writing never fully comfortable._

_But Alucard is still gone when the sky starts to go grey with rain a few hours later; Sypha sends Trevor up to patch the roof, bracing the ladder beneath him as he climbs up. She watches the driveway as Trevor works, looking for some sign of Alucard, or either of her children, but there is none._

_When Trevor comes down about twenty minutes later, she_ _’s still lost in thought._

_“I’m going to go check the old castle,” she tells him. “Maybe he’s out there again.”_

_He_ _s started going back to the castle more frequently in the past few months, more than he used to in years past, but he’d always come home within a few hours. He’s not there, either, though, and while Sypha’s not quite worried just yet, her need to figure this out won’t leave her be now that it’s seized hold._

_“I checked the Hold again,” Trevor says when she comes back to the house. “He’s definitely not down there. But, Sypha…”_

_She doesn_ _’t like the way he trails off, voice grim. “What is it?” she asks, furrowing her brow._

_“Did you see the old distance mirror, when you went down there?”_

_“No, why?”_

_“It…” Trevor pauses, rubbing the back of his neck. “It might not mean anything. But it looked like a wild animal had taken to it. The glass was smashed and the runes were shredded. A wild animal…or a vampire.”_

_Sypha pushes past Trevor, needing to see for herself. She doesn_ _’t run, but her steps are hasty as she hurries down the long, winding staircase._

_It's just as Trevor described when she gets down there; she’d missed it in her first pass through of the Hold, the mirror having been moved back into it’s original corner years ago; but it’s been devastated beyond use. The glass they’d replaced years ago when they were restoring the Belmont estate has been shattered, and deep gouges line the frame, slashed through the old Chaldaic runes until they’re illegible in some places, and completely gone in others._

_Sypha grips the frame on either side of the mirror, and she feels her heart drop to her stomach._

_“Maybe there’s a clue in his bedroom,” she says definitively. She can’t look at Trevor when she knows that will be too much; right now she searches for action, for problem-solving. Trevor follows her back up the stairs dutifully, then up to the second floor. Alucard’s room is next to theirs, the door closed. She’d knocked earlier, to see if he was there, but now Sypha barges in, looking for a clue. She expects it to look like a storm has passed through, or a fight. She expects it to look like Alucard was stolen from them against his will, but it doesn’t; it just looks empty. The bed is neatly made, the corners of the sheets tucked in and the pillows fluffed. The window is closed from the cool autumn air, and the curtains drawn. The side tables are barren._

_The only personal effects are the neatly stacked pile of books on the desk, like he_ _’d finished with them and had merely stacked them to return to the library at a later date._

_And on top of the books, a letter._

_Sypha grabs it first, sharing a look with Trevor as she unfolds it and holds it out so they can both read together._

My dearest Belmonts, _it begins in his looping script._

I write this letter in the hopes that you will not be too angry with me, though I fear I may be fighting an uphill battle on that front.

Thank you for everything you have brought to my life for nearly thirty years of my life. You were the friends I needed when I first awoke, alone in this world for the first time in my life, and you became the family I wanted as we built this house together. It has been a joy and a privilege to watch Sonia and Simon grow and surpass their parents, as all children must.

Now I beg of you to forgive me, as I believe it is time for me to leave.

Do you remember Dr. Bannister, the man who stole my father’s spell book, so many years ago? The one and only piece of my father’s collection I was never able to fully recover. He said something that day he stole the book, something I never forgot since: I was young then, and I saw the rest of my life the way a human would; the way my mother did, or the two of you. I let myself believe I could grow old with the two of you. He made it clear this wasn’t a possibility.

I have found great joy in witnessing the two of you grow old together—

Trevor, to see you find your footing and come in to yourself brought me peace and emboldened me to forge my own such path; and Sypha, your warmth—your righteous fire and burning empathy and impassioned magic have always served to remind me of my human roots.

But I see now that though I may age, I cannot grow old with you; to see Sonia nearly my own age when I have little changed has made this clear. Forgive me for my cowardice, but I cannot bear witness to your slow, inevitable deaths.

I know, too, that you will look to find me; and I apologize for every step I have taken to sabotage those attempts, as well.

I have left letters for Sonia and Simon, as well. Please give them to the two of them when the return; I wish I could have seen them one last time, but I feared I may not have had the strength had I seen them both again or held them in my arms. Though I am not their father, part of my heart still beats for them.

All my love,

Adrian Alucard Fahrenheit Țepeș

* * *

 _They look for him in Gresit first, making their way down the winding passageways. It_ _’s life in reverse, following the path they’d taken_ up _last time. It certainly takes longer to get down, but Trevor jokes that it_ _’s certainly better on the old bones than their first method of travel._

 _Of course, it couldn_ _’t be so simple; Alucard’s coffin sits open and empty, untouched since he’d first arisen all those years ago to join them. They try to look around for clues, but it seems well and truly abandoned; he must not have come back here after leaving, no doubt aware it would be the first place they would look for him._

 _Sypha tries to repair the distance mirror, too, in a bid to use that to track down Alucard_ _’s location, but Chaldaic has always been his forte, not hers. When she goes looking for the books on Chaldaic that she_ knows _are in the Hold, they_ _’ve all mysteriously vanished. And while she tries to find literature from other sources, works on the Chaldaic language are hard enough to find in their own right, much less Chaldaic magic._

_Sonia and Simon both ask after him._

_Sypha has to steel herself as she gives them the letters he wrote. She watches the way Sonia_ _’s face hardens as she reads, and after that she never speaks of him again. Simon is different; gentler. He always has been. Sypha watches the way his bottom lip wobbles, but he forces himself not to cry. He excuses himself to hide in his room, and Sypha wishes there were something more she could do; he’d always been closest to Alucard._

_When all other avenues fail, she goes to the Speakers. Trevor stays behind, both of them unwilling to leave the Belmont estate empty and potentially open for attack, but Simon joins her._

_Returning to her clan always leaves Sypha feeling nostalgic. Although her grandfather is no longer here, visiting tends to remind her of the days of her youth, running alongside their wagons as they travelled from city to city. She remembers learning the ways of medicine from her aunts and the ways of the hunt from her uncles and, later, sitting quiet and still with Bab_ _ă Ioana as the old woman taught her the ways of Speaker magicks._

 _Bab_ _ă Ioana had been from a different tribe than Sypha and her grandfather, and Sypha had left to travel with her and her tribe for two years before she’d returned to her grandfather. She’d loved Babă Ioana fiercely, the woman older even than her grandfather but still training Sypha day in and day out. She told Sypha the secrets of Speaker magic that were guarded carefully, even from other Speakers, and Sypha had burned with pride to think she was worthy of that trust. As a young girl she’d thought that Babă Ioana would live forever, and it had been a shock when she had come together for the Speaker’s Assembly three years later to learn that she had died two months earlier. She’d mourned for months, feeling like she’d lost her closest confidant, even moreso than her grandfather. She wishes she had someone to turn to, now, as she asks her brothers and sisters if they’ve heard whisper of the dhampir Alucard, but the answer everywhere is the same sorry ‘no’. They tell her they will keep their eyes open and ears to the ground and send word if they learn anything, but that’s the best they can do._

_She returns home without Simon, leaving him in their care to continue his own training._

_“I couldn’t find him,” she says as she walks through the doors of the Belmont estate, pulling off her head scarf. There was a time years ago when the thought of a single place to call home terrified her, but it calls to her with warmth and safety, now. A place she can curl up and hide from the world._  

 _Trevor reaches out and pulls her into his arms and just holds her there._ _“We’ll find him,” he promises.  
  
“But what if we don’t? What if he doesn’t _want _to be found?_ _”  
  
“C’mon, Sy; it’s us. He’s not going to just leave us out to dry after everything. Have some faith.”  
  
She seems to laugh a little despite herself. “That’s rich coming from you, Trevor Belmont. Normally I’m the one with the faith talk.”  
  
“I suppose I’ve learned from the best, Sypha Belmont.”  
  
“_Belnades- _Belmont, thank you._ _”_  
  
_And Trevor laughs and smooths her hair down before he kisses the crown of her head. “I miss him, too,” he tells her. “And he has to know that.”_

* * *

  _Here is the thing: Sypha may have failed Alucard, but Alucard failed them, too._

 _Sypha spends the following weeks reflecting on every moment of their lives that_ _’s brought them to this point. Had Alucard really been happy in this moment, or that? Or had he simply been pretending? He couldn’t have been, she tells herself. Not all the time; not everything. Not when the alternative is that he’d felt that way all along and she’d never noticed._

_Sypha turns to rage when the alternative is paralyzing grief._

_Alucard had slept in their room when they_ _’d first moved into the estate, the three of them curled up in one bed, but he’d moved out at some point. Sypha looks back on it, now, and thinks: was that before or after the spell book had been stolen? It had to have been after, but how long after? Weeks? Months? Years? Long enough that she hadn’t connected the two, but hindsight is only so good as your memory. All these years later, it’s hard to find any one memory that isn’t hazy around the edges and hard to remember a strange note to Alucard’s voice, or a peculiar expression._

 _He_ _’d moved out of their room and into his own, and Trevor and Sypha had both asked him why, separately. Sypha can’t remember for the life of her what his answer had been at the time, but it had been enough to assuage her concern. And now, years later, it had simply become a fact of life, unquestioned. When they’d traveled on the road they’d still slept together for warmth, and Sypha had trained herself to accept that that was enough._

 _She hadn_ _’t wanted to push him, or scare him away. That, she remembers. When Alucard had begun to pull away, she thought it was because she had pushed too hard; perhaps made him uncomfortable. She hadn’t known how to process her feelings at the time, her desire to be with Trevor constantly at war with her desire to be with Alucard, a never-ending cycle of guilt at the thought of hurting one or the other when she wanted both. She’d wanted both, and maybe that had been what pushed Alucard away, uninterested in playing Sypha’s game of back and forth. So she’d let him pull away as far as he needed, if the alternative was losing him completely. She’d trained herself to push aside her desire for him, or to direct that fire onto Trevor, and she’d been good at it, too. Most days it was easy to push aside, even when the desire had never fully gone away._

_But had he pulled away not because of Sypha_ _’s feelings, but out of fear of his own?_

_She thinks of Alucard_ _’s letter, pointing to Dr. Bannister. She remembers his relentless pursuit of the man. She’d never been able to piece it together at the time, but now? Now she thinks she understands. It had never been about the book. Alucard had come to associate the book with Dr. Bannister’s words that night, years ago. If he could only recover the book, if he could only prove the vampire wrong—_

_It doesn_ _’t matter, now. But still, anger wars with guilt, as Sypha blames Dr. Bannister and blames herself in turn. Alucard never would have run had Dr. Bannister not put the fear in his heart, but—_

_If she_ _’d only pushed harder, would he still be here?_

* * *

  _Alucard never returns home._

_They spend the rest of their lives searching for him and the closest they ever get is also their last._

_They find Dr. Bannister, fittingly, in Bucharest. He looks the same, a man in his early forties, but he has a young woman with him this time. She wears her hair in a severe braid and dresses in men_ _’s clothes, and she wears a sword at her hip just as Dr. Bannister does._

_Trevor recognizes him first: not just his face, but the scarred, blistered evidence of his encounter with the Morning Star years ago on his hand. Bannister recognizes him in turn, even despite the years._

_“You,” Sypha says, voice trembling with barely controlled rage._

_Bannister turns his attention to Sypha._ _“The vampire hunter and the Speaker magician. My, but the two of you have gotten old. Dear god.”_

 _Sypha feels her hands curl into fists at her side._ _“Did he come after you?!” she demands. “Did he find you?!”_

 _Bannister narrows his eyes, trying to piece together her anger, then widen._ _“He finally left you, did he? No, I haven’t seen him since_ he _nearly took my hand off—_ _” he jerks his head in Trevor’s direction and scowls, holding his lame hand to his chest with his good one. “But it’s about time he figured out where he belong—” He chokes on the words, eyes widening as he looks down at the  large spear of ice now impaled through his chest, then back up. Blood dribbles down his chin. He tries to speak, but all he can manage is a frail gasp. “Ki—” he starts._

_“Mathias!”_

_The woman_ roars _, throwing herself at Sypha and swinging her blade up faster than Sypha can react. Trevor grabs Sypha by the back of her robes, yanking backwards with all his might._

_Sypha stumbles back and regains her footing, both hands groping across her chest and coming up wet and sticky with blood. She looks down at the long cut along her sternum that_ _’s sliced her robes clean through. It’s not deep enough to be fatal, but it bleeds freely and stings like a bitch._

_The vampire woman roars again and throws herself at Sypha again, slashing back and forth relentlessly. Sypha hits the ground and throws out both her hands, palms up, and they glow with the light of magic; a soft blue-white that rebuffs every strike the woman makes. She sees the pain and rage in the woman_ _’s face when she opens her eyes, looking up into her face. Her fangs are bared and her eyes are wet, and she doesn’t. Stop. Attacking._

_And then she raises her sword arm high and Sypha sees as the Morning Star wraps itself around her wrist twice. She screams as it begins to burn, but Trevor pulls hard and the vampire woman stumbles backwards._

_Sypha pushes herself to her feet and raises her hands, and the vampire woman looks between the two of them flanking her as the scent of burning flesh grows stronger._

_“You lose,” Sypha declares as she begins to channel lightning._

_“Not quite,” the woman spits. And she looks away from Sypha, sprinting at Trevor. She pushes off the ground and leaps over him, bringing her right arm up—still wound in chains—and wraps it around Trevor’s neck as she hits the ground behind him._

_Trevor gags and gets dragged to the ground on top of the woman as they land beside Bannister_ _’s dying body._

_The woman yanks Trevor to his feet and uses him as a human shield. She keeps the chain taut against Trevor_ _’s neck and grits her teeth against the burn of her wrist, pulling Bannister’s sword out of the sheath at his hip with her free hand and pointing it at Sypha. “You attack and he goes, too.”_

_“Sy—pha—” Trevor chokes out. The woman pulls the chains taut and he chokes again. “She’ll have—to drop it—eventually—”_

_She kicks the back of his knee with her boot and Trevor_ _’s legs buckle involuntarily underneath him. His knees hit the ground and then suddenly he can breathe as the chains loosen. Trevor doubles over, gasping for breath on his hands and knees. He feels a hand on his back and thinks irrationally,_ Sypha—

_And then Sypha can only watch in horror as the woman stabs him through the back._

_“TREVOR—”_

_The quiet breath he takes is too soft for Sypha to hear over her own hoarse screaming. But she sees it, the way he gasps around the wound. He coughs, weakly, and she still can_ _’t hear it but she sees the way he spits out blood._

 _“Sy…pha…” This time it’s not a gasp but a breath as he looks up at her and she sees the apology in his eyes, and Sypha feels her whole body_ burn _with rage._

_Lightning begins to gather around Sypha and she throws the strongest magic she has over Trevor_ _’s head and directly at the vampire. There is no one element to it—burning white hot then freezing cold in the blink of an eye—and it’s nothing and everything. Her rage and pain and anger. She continues, unrelenting, as she marches definitively closer and closer to the woman. And then—_

_The world goes white in an explosion of magic, too much for the very air to contain it. Sypha and the vampire are both thrown apart and Sypha bounces against the far wall before she hits the ground like a rag doll, unconscious._

_When Sypha comes to hours later, having drained herself of every last ounce of her magic from the onslaught, the woman is gone; and all that_ _’s left is Trevor, gone cold._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alucard's greatest shame is finally revealed; or rather, remembered. And let me tell you, it was rough to write.
> 
> If anyone's curious, this Simon Belmont is _not_ the Simon of the original games. Both in personality and time frame, given the original Simon comes some hundred plus years later. The name was a nod to the original character rather than an attempt at a portrayal of him.


	24. Part II | Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I said - it gets worse before it gets better. We're almost there, folks. Can't wait to see how this plays out.

Sypha jolts out of bed with a strangled scream, fighting away the hands reaching for her until she’s free of the bed.

“Sypha—” Trevor says, reaching out for her.

_“Don’t!”_ she screams. She realizes what she’s done a second later and tries to drag in a deep, ragged breath. “Don’t touch me,” she says after a moment, voice firm but quieter now. She can’t—she can’t look at him without seeing blood and glazed over eyes and she _can_ _’t,_ not right now. Sypha turns to rage when she cannot (will not) process grief.

“Sypha, darling—”

“Do _not_ use that voice with me,” Sypha snaps at Adrian. “You don’t get that right.” Adrian reels back like he’s been shocked and looks at Sypha with wide eyes. Normally that would be enough to calm Sypha down, but she feels fury coursing through every inch of her being, too far gone to come back down now. “You left us,” she pronounces.

Trevor furrows his brow, glancing between both of them. “What?” he says. But Adrian doesn’t deny it. He looks down and away and Trevor’s hands fall to his sides. “Is that true?”

“I—”

“He ran away because he was scared!”

Trevor looks back at Sypha, where angry tears have begun to well in her eyes. “He was scared of letting us close! Isn’t that right, _Alucard?_ ”

He flinches at the use of the other name. “Sypha, I understand you’re upset but in the years since I’ve—”

“I don’t want excuses! You don’t _get_ excuses! We searched for you for _years,_ you bastard! We thought, ‘there’s no way Alucard could _really_ leave us, not after everything!’ We thought, ‘maybe he just needs some time.’ Until days turned into months turned into years!”

“Fine!” Adrian shouts back. “I ran! Are you happy?”

“No!” Sypha snaps. “No, I’m not happy, Adrian! You think I’m _happy_ to hear that you were willing to abandon us after everything we went through?” Her face scrunches up as she forces back the tears, but she stares him down and doesn’t look away. “You think I’m _happy_ to find out how much you _really_ cared?”

Adrian’s face goes ashen before he positively brims with life. “You don’t get to decide what I was thinking or how much I cared! How dare you presume—”

“It’s not presuming!” She stomps forward and shoves his chest, but he doesn’t move. “ _You_ don’t get to decide these things alone when _we_ were the ones who had to suffer—”

_“Well so did I!”_

They all go silent as that hangs in the air around them; the only sound is the subdued crackle of the fire, casting harsh shadows across their faces in angry caricatures.

“You,” Sypha says, quiet and deadly and shaking, “don’t get to make me feel sorry for you. If you hadn’t left, Trevor wouldn’t have had to die like he did.”

“Sypha, that’s _enough_ ,” Trevor orders. His voice cuts through both of them, deep and authoritative and brooking no argument. “Walk it off.”

“Tch.” She grabs her pillow off the bed, glaring at the ground. “Fine. I’ll find somewhere else to sleep.”

The boys are silent as she steps into the main hall, immediately shivering without the warmth of the fire. She watches shadows flicker on the walls as she goes to the stairs, but she pauses there as Trevor begins to talk.

“I’m mad, too,” he says, voice gentle despite the words, “don’t think for a second I’m not. But she shouldn’t have said that. Whatever happened— _however_ I died…it’s not your fault.”

“I never meant you any harm,” Adrian says, voice so quiet Sypha has to strain to hear him. “I regretted it the instant I woke up again. All those years I’d willingly sacrificed with the two of you. Even before I’d left, it was fear that held me back from ever voicing my true feelings.”

“The path to hell,” Trevor murmurs. She watches their shadows through the French doors. “I’m…I can’t sleep here, tonight. It kind of feels like I’m going through this loss all over again, you know? Thought I’d trained myself out of being scared of everyone I know leaving me in the end, but I guess not.”

Adrian doesn’t answer. Sypha hurries up the staircase as soon as she sees Trevor moving in her direction, ducking into the spare bedroom that they _hadn_ _’t_ pilfered for the mattress. She shuts the door gently and sits on the bed as she listens to Trevor climb the stairs.

She hears him stop outside her door and she almost calls out to him, but something stops her before she can get the words out. After a few seconds, she hears him move past, and then, a moment later, the sound of another door quietly opening and closing.

She sits there for another ten minutes just staring holes in the carpet at her feet before she finally drags herself to bed. It’s colder up here, the sheets carrying a musty scent as she pulls them closer and shivers despite herself. 

Sypha lays awake for a long time before sleep finally seizes hold.

* * *

It feels like Sypha’s barely fallen asleep when she jerks awake, lurching up in bed. She looks around for the source of whatever could have woken her up, but the house is quiet. She stares at the window, watching the nearby trees rustle in the wind as moonlight spills in and across the bed.

_Something_ woke her, though; of that she’s certain.

And then she feels it again, a little niggling at the back of her mind—

The protection spell.

Glass shatters downstairs at the exact moment she has the realization and Sypha throws herself out of bed. She runs into Trevor in the hallway, and they share one look before Trevor vaults over the railing and lands on the ground floor. He has the Morning Star in his hands and he charges into the family room with a roar as Sypha sprints down the stairs.

Adrian’s pinned to the ground, Kisa leaning over him from where they’ve landed dangerously close to the fire as Adrian snarls up at her, fangs bared.

“Josiah, now—”

Josiah hurdles through the shattered window that faces the driveway, boots crunching in the broken glass. There’s something in his hands Sypha doesn’t have time to place, and behind him Jennifer steps carefully through in his wake.

“No you fucking _don_ _’t—_ ” Trevor grunts. He throws the Morning Star out, curling it around Kisa’s ankle and pulling hard. Adrian sits up, kicking her right in the nose and rubbing at his neck where’d she’d been choking him as she’s pulled backwards. He doesn’t get any respite before the temperature—already cold from the shattered window rapidly letting a flurry of snow inside—plummets. Sypha watches as the snow swirling around Jennifer’s form hardens and sharpens to hundreds of icicles, hanging in the air for the briefest moment before they’re launched forward, directly at Adrian.

“No!” Sypha throws her hand out and _pulls—_ because if magic is nothing more than asserting your will over the universe, then the struggle of competing magic is nothing more than a test of will. And Sypha is nothing if she is not willful.

She manages to seize most of them, leaving them hanging in the air before she flips them around and launches them back at Jennifer. Jennifer’s eyes widen and she dodges sideways, landing hard in the glass and snow. Dozens of the icicles catch on her cheeks and jacket, leaving tiny cuts all over. Unfortunately, she’d managed to get several icicles through to Adrian before Sypha managed to stop them. Adrian’s fast, but several of them still manage to nick him across his face and arms as he throws out his hand and summons his sword to his side.

Sypha’s attention is drawn back to Kisa before she can pursue Jennifer further. Josiah helps her up as Sypha spins to look at Trevor as he drags her closer. “You and I have a score to settle,” he says, low and dangerous. Kisa’s expression twists into one of pure malice.

“Not today, Belmont,” she grunts. The moment Trevor drops her at his feet, she kicks up with her free foot and nails him in the balls.

“Not again,” Trevor wheezes. His face goes red and he hunches over, his grip on the Morning Star slackening enough that she can jump to her feet and pull the whip out of his grasp. She kicks it away angrily, sending the pommel spinning until it lands under the coffee table. “I hate that thing,” she says, right before wrapping her hands around his neck and yanking down to smash his nose into her knee.

Sypha sees red and the fire flares up and out of the fireplace until it fills the room with a loud roar, melting back the ice. “Touch him again and see what happens,” she says as she ushers the fire along the ground until it begins to lick at Kisa’s feet. It circles the vampire, flaring up into a wall of fire. Trevor stumbles back from the heat of the blaze in awe, looking at Sypha.

“Have I mentioned lately that I’m glad you’re on our side?” he says.

Adrian grunts behind them and then the sound of thudding grabs Trevor and Sypha’s attention before she can reply. Sypha twists around, eyes wide.

“Adrian—!” she shouts as he’s thrown into the built-in shelves of the house. Josiah stands over him, panting, as show books and modern art hit the ground with him before Adrian spins himself back up into the air and roundhouse kicks the other man hard enough in the chest to send him stumbling into the frame of the shattered window.

Josiah grapples for the weapon at his back as Adrian sprints forward, summoning his sword back to his side as he throws himself into the air and deftly kicks Josiah's arm up into the air. It forces him to release his axe on the upswing and it flies into the air before it clatters to the ground several feet away.

Adrian uses that moment to shove his palm against his chest with all his strength. This time, Josiah is flung out into the snow, landing with a hard thump in the driveway gravel.

Adrian leaps all the way to the other side of him—and when he holds his hand out and summons his sword this time, it cleaves straight through Josiah's neck in one clean motion.

It all happens so fast the moment hangs in the air.

And then the blood hits the ground, followed by his head.

_“Josiah—”_

Sypha’s surprised by the tangled threads of emotion in Jennifer’s voice and she turns to look at the woman as she sprints back out into the snow.

And in that moment of distraction, the flames keeping Kisa in place die just enough for the vampire to launch herself through the fire, tackling Trevor. They roll once, tussling on the ground and barreling into the coffee table. Kisa seizes the opportunity, grabbing a fistful of Trevor’s hair to bash his face against the coffee table.

The fire flares once more and Sypha brings her hands up in quick succession. “This ends here and now!” she shouts over the roar of the fire.

Adrian’s scream is like a dagger to the heart.

Sypha spins around, just quick enough to see Jennifer shoving something against his collarbone. He tries to reel back like it burns, but Jennifer is relentless, advancing further for every inch he tries to take backwards. His fingers encircle her wrist, digging his nails in as hard as he can, but still she won’t let go.

And then suddenly she does.

Jennifer releases her grasp, letting a cross fall to the ground as she splays her fingers. Adrian’s hand goes to his collarbone, and he grits his teeth as he glowers. And then he’s jerked into the air like a rag doll, up and then back down into the gravel hard enough that Sypha can hear the impact even with the snow muffling the outside world.

Jennifer stands still, watching impassively with her palm outstretched. The moment he tries to push himself off the ground she uses whatever black magic she’s called upon to force him back to the ground.

Sypha raises her hands, calling forth columns of fire once more, but Kisa’s voice cuts through before she can do anything.

“Move and he dies.” Her fingers are gripped in Trevor’s hair, baring his neck so she can hold her blade to it.

“Harm him and so do you.”

“Sypha,” Jennifer calls out suddenly. Sypha shifts, trying to find some way to keep both of them in her sight at the same time, but they stand on either side of her. “That is your name, right?” She’s moved over to Josiah's body, and she touches his chest gently before she moves to the backpack he’d been wearing. She rifles through it as Adrian remains pinned to the ground by some unseen force, before finally, she pulls out chains. “I’d like you to do me a favor.”

“Go to hell!” Sypha shouts.

“Maybe,” Jennifer agrees, inclining her head in Sypha’s direction as she straightens up and walks back over to Adrian. “Maybe when this is all over, that’s where I’ll belong. Believe me when I say I know killing is abhorrent, especially the innocent.” She crouches down again, over Adrian, and begins to wrap the chains around him. Sypha watches the way his whole body tenses, but he doesn’t scream this time, though Sypha knows it must burn; he just grits his teeth and hisses. “But if it means purging the world of criminals, then it will be worth it. I’ll gladly go to hell if it means bringing them all with me.”

“That’s—what you’re planning?” Adrian grunts. Sypha watches the way he looks up, the way his whole body trembles. “You think—tch—that my father will care who is innocent and who is not?”

“His wife was killed by murderers just like my family was. I’m sure I can reason with him. And if I can’t?” she shrugs. “I’ve developed other methods to control him.”

“It’s a fool’s errand, Jennifer.”

She gives the chains a hard jerk and this time he can’t contain the moan it elicits. Sypha can hear the quiet sizzling as the chains burn through the thin cotton of his shirt and begin to draw painful lines in his chest.

“I have Alucard restrained with holy chains,” she says, raising her voice again as she looks at Sypha. “We took the idea from your friend over there. All it took was one cathedral, one bishop, to tell them we were hunting a most unholy vampire.” She shakes her head a little. “What’s one more lie in light of everything else? But I have Alucard here, and you can see Kisa has your friend Trevor there.”

The sleeves of Kisa’s shirt have been partially torn. Sypha can see now, where her forearms were normally hidden, the evidence of her encounter with the Morning Star, so many years ago. Unlike her sire, Kisa had managed to retain the use of her arm, but still the scars remained.

“So you really don’t have much of a choice when I tell you I want the spell book.”

“Don’t—give it to them, Sypha—” Adrian grunts. She can see his whole body, tense and trembling in the snow, and she scrambles for what to do. Could she manage to take out both Jennifer and Kisa before either of them had a chance to hurt Adrian or Trevor? Her pride says yes, but pride is a dangerous thing; especially when one misstep could get either of them—or _both_ of them—killed.

“Well?” Jennifer prompts. “We can sit here and wait to see how long this takes to kill him, but I don’t think any of us want this. It sounds long and painful.”

Sypha watches as Adrian’s sword begins to rise slowly into the air behind Jennifer before she can respond. Her eyes widen and she looks behind herself, but Kisa still hasn’t spotted the weapon. It trembles in the air, hard for Adrian to focus on when he’s in so much pain, but still he manages it.

“You keep calling him that,” she says to stall for time. “'Alucard'. Is that because you know what you’re doing is wrong? He was your friend.”

Sypha sees the way her expression falters, just for a moment, but it hardens before she can push it further. “It doesn’t matter, not anymore. He murdered Josiah, the only person who helped me find justice for my parents.”

“That’s not justice,” Sypha snaps. “That’s revenge.”

“Jenny, look out—!” Kisa shouts before Adrian can strike her with his sword.

She catches it deftly with her force magic, and Sypha watches it tremble back and forth between warring parties before she curls her fingers into a tight fist—and just like that, Adrian’s whole body is thrust to the floor, crushed by gravity. The pressure builds and he thrashes and tries to free himself until he _screams_ but still it doesn’t stop—

_“Okay!”_ Sypha screams. “Stop it! I’ll give it to you!”

The pressure holds for seconds more that feels like eons before finally, _finally_ she watches Adrian’s full body slump as the invisible force eases off of him.

Sypha stares at him until she can see the rise and fall of his chest before she looks back at Jennifer. She curls both her hands into fists at her sides. “Fine,” she says again. “But she comes with me.” She jerks her head in Kisa’s direction.

The two women share a look over Sypha’s head before Jennifer looks back at her. “So you can separate us and take us out individually? I don’t think so. On your own, while we stay here with them.” She steps over to Adrian as she speaks, grabbing the fallen sword as she goes and fisting her hand in his long hair to bare his neck. Sypha can see that the chains wrapped tightly around him have begun to burn slowly through his shirt, the thin white fabric browning before it starts to disintegrate. Sypha can see the shape of a cross burnt into Adrian’s neck.

A sharp gust of wind rattles the trees around them, the world responding to Sypha’s energy. She tries to find some way to take them both out, but they’ve both taken up positions next to Trevor and Adrian—intentional, no doubt. Knowing she wouldn’t risk hurting the men to get to them. Smart of them.

Finally, she gives a jerky nod and turns stiffly.

“Don’t take too long!” Jennifer calls as Sypha reaches the doorway. Sypha stops there, staring into the rest of the dark house. “Before you get any ideas about waiting until sunrise. You take too long and we kill them. And this time—I want the _full_ book.”

“Fine,” is all she says.

It’s a long trek down to the Hold.

She spends the time thinking about ways to stop them, ways to take them out. But she feels pinned down, like they’ve thought of everything. If she knew how to use a weapon, maybe, but she’s never used a bow or a sword in her life, and she’d be useless at it. If she could just get them away from Trevor and Adrian—but already she knows that won’t work. They’ve worked it out, now. There’s no way for her to take them both out at the same time, not without risk.

Not when she looks at Kisa and can already see Trevor’s blood on her hands.

No, her best opportunity will come after she’s given them the spell book. It’s a small window, but it’s the best she has.

She doesn’t have to look for the book long when she finally reaches the Hold. No, the spell book has sat on the edge of her awareness since she’d first returned it, emanating a dark aura unlike any other in the collection.

She doesn’t risk the stairs on her way back up, lest they decide she’s taking too long. She stops in the middle of the atrium, looking up, then brings her hands together. In one sharp, fluid motion, she pulls the water from the air and forms a thin sheet of ice below her feet. She lifts it slowly, lending a sense of deja vu that she can’t shake—though last time, she hadn’t been quite so alone.

Jennifer’s come in from outside by the time Sypha returns. Sypha can see her standing over a still unconscious Adrian, but it seems they dragged in their friend’s body, as well. Sypha makes note of it, but she doesn’t have the time to dwell on it any further than that.

“We were starting to get impatient,” she says as Sypha walks back in. The fire’s finally conceded to the snowy outside, the house dark and filled with a freezing wind.

Sypha holds the spell book up. “If I give it to you, you take it and leave.”

She watches the way Jennifer and Kisa exchange a look, before Jennifer nods. “Very well.”

Sypha holds her gaze as she walks steadily forward, but Jennifer doesn’t waver.

She tosses the book at her feet. “Take it, then.”

Jennifer’s eyes don’t move from Sypha as she kneels down, not even as she reaches out and gropes for the spell book. She only looks down after she’s grasped it, and then she begins to flip through the pages hungrily, scanning for something with growing desperation until her eyes widen and she stops.

“I found it.”

Sypha curls her hands into fists, silent as Jennifer flips the page over, then back again. It’s too dark for Sypha to make out the ritual she’s stopped at, but she can guess.

And then—Jennifer looks up, eyes blown wide.

“Of course,” she says. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it.”

“See what?” Sypha asks before she can think better of it.

Jennifer doesn’t answer—her gaze drops to Adrian’s unconscious face beside her, and that’s all the answer Sypha needs.

_“No—!”_

Sypha summons forth four icicles, large enough to impale or entrap Jennifer, but the woman dodges them before she can manage it. Jennifer cries out as she falls on top of Adrian’s body, and there Sypha sees that she hadn’t missed entirely as she’d first thought. Jennifer’s leg has begun to gush blood, but movement out of the corner of her eye stops her from pursuing further. Sypha spins around, just in time for Kisa to swing her sword down in an undercut meant to bisect Trevor in two.

Sypha lets out an inhuman roar and pulls the icicles from the ground with her magic, hurling them at Kisa with a speed that knocks the vampire off course. Her swing goes wide, catching Trevor across the face.

Kisa snarls and tosses her blade to the side as she flies through the air, tackling Sypha and pinning her to the ground in the span of one breath to the next.

“Kisa!” Jennifer barks. “Help me with him!”

The vampire snaps her teeth in Sypha’s direction, sits up, and grabs Sypha’s ankle to toss her aside.

Sypha yelps as she hits the ground, rolling onto her feet and straightening up as Kisa throws Adrian’s form over one shoulder and flees to the window. Jennifer hobbles next to her, the gash on her leg pulsing with blood with every step she takes.

Sypha sprints after them. Snow has begun to fall now, and she hardens it into hundreds of tiny shards of ice as she runs, striking out with them relentlessly as Jennifer does her best to counter them. She hops through the window at a sprint and the ice shards part in the air for her as she moves through them—but the other two hit the tree line first as her toes begin to numb on the frozen ground.

Her legs buckle beneath her from the cold but still she doesn’t stop, pushing off the ground in one fluid motion and hitting the trees just moments after them. She drops the ice shards as soon as she does, summoning fire to the palms of her hands instead in search of them, but all she finds are the long, haunting shadows of rustling branches.

“Adrian—!” she screams into the forest. The wind howls back in her ears too loud for her to hear anything else; an echo of her anger.

_“Adrian!”_


	25. Part II | Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a cliffhanger to leave you all one, but this chapter is verging on 5k to make up for it. Just one more chapter (and a brief epilogue) left, and it's been such a pleasure telling this story with you all. Thank you for all your kind words and kudos!

Sypha searches for the three of them for nearly thirty minutes as the snow continues to fall. It’s not quite a blizzard, not yet, but the cold settles into her bones and takes hold there anyway, and still she pushes further and further into the dark, until—

“Sypha?!” Sypha turns quickly, but she realizes a moment later that it’s not Adrian’s voice; it’s Trevor’s. “Adrian?!”

The reality of the night crashes over her like a wave and Sypha’s eyes widen. She opens her mouth, wanting to call out to him, but all that escapes is a puff of breath.

 _“Sypha!”_ He drags her name out and Sypha finds warmth returning to her, just a bit. She fights her way back through the trees, suddenly desperate, and Trevor must hear the ruckus she’s making because she hears him, too, running to her.

“Trevor,” she says, a frozen whisper first, then louder. “Trevor—!”

They see each other at the same moment, and neither of them hesitate before they’re crashing together. Sypha buries her face in Trevor’s chest as he wraps his arms around her. “ _Christ_ , Sypha, you’re freezing.”

“I’m f-fine,” she stammers out. He doesn’t argue, even as she begins to tremble violently in his arms.

“C’mon,” Trevor says. “Let’s get you back inside.”

“Adrian—” she starts as he guides her back in the direction of the house. She looks over her shoulder.

“Adrian won’t get frostbite out here,” Trevor tells her.

Sypha swallows and nods.

The walk back is nearly fifteen minutes. Sypha’s legs give out halfway there and she stumbles into Trevor, still shivering. He has to hoist her onto his back and have her wrap her arms around his neck for the rest of the walk. It’s slow-going, both of their bodies beaten and abused.

Trevor gets her into the library before he finally sets her down. “Can you light a fire?” he asks, nodding to the fireplace.

Sypha wants to answer him—she wants to tell him _of course_ she can, that’s child’s play. But she can’t seem to find the words, find her voice, find her heart in her chest.

“Okay,” Trevor grumbles. “Just. Stay right there.”

She wants to ask him to stay as he leaves, but she can’t even do that.

He comes back after a few seconds, wrapping her up in blankets before he leaves again. He’s gone longer this time, coming back after five minutes carefully balancing a mug of tea in one hand and a fire log in the other.

“Here,” he offers quietly, holding the mug out to her. After a second, she takes it.

She can’t seem to force herself to drink it, but the warmth seeps into her fingers nonetheless and with it comes life, slow and steady as breathing.

Trevor spends the whole time trying to get the fire lit, but the log valiantly continues to resist him. And then it flares to life; Trevor lets out a yelp, falling back on his ass. When he turns around, Sypha lowers her hands back to the mug of tea in front of her as the fire dies back down to a healthy size.

In the light of the fire, Sypha can see the extent of the damage. Her lips part as she looks at the long gash that runs from his cheekbone to his forehead.

“Trevor,” she gasps.

Trevor grunts and turns his head away. “I’m fine,” he says before he shakes his head. “No. No, I’m not, actually. But it’s not life-threatening and we can deal with it later. I’m more worried about you. Sypha, how long were you out there?”

Sypha looks down at her hands. Color has begun to return them, and she can feel her trembling finally beginning to ease in the face of a warm fire and the weight of the blankets on her shoulders. “I used my magic to keep me warm,” she says after a long moment. “Instead of channeling fire out, I think I focused it inward. I’m not…really sure. It was instinct.”

They both fall silent for a moment.

“What—happened?” Trevor asks eventually. “The last thing I really remember was Adrian killing that man.”

“Josiah,” Sypha supplies.

“Right.”

“Adrian killed him and it was like both women lost it. Kisa attacked you—”

“—And bashed my head in on the coffee table,” Trevor supplies helpfully.

“Right.” Sypha licks her cracked lips. “You passed out, and I—” She has to press her lips into a thin line and calm herself down, and still she feels the roar of emotion building in her, threatening to overwhelm until she feels a hand on hers. Sypha opens her eyes and looks at Trevor, reaching out to her. She takes a deep breath and feels herself settle. “Jennifer got a hold of Adrian. She used some sort of force magic on him and held him down while she bound him with holy chains.”

“Christ,” Trevor says succinctly.

“Right,” Sypha says again.

Trevor frowns before he pulls the mug of tea out of her hands so he can set it aside and pull her into his arms. They have to rearrange themselves into something more comfortable, but Sypha does so willingly, unwrapping the blanket from around her body so she can curl up against him.

“…They wanted the book,” she says finally, once she’s settled. “I didn’t know what to do. So I just _gave it_ to them! And it—I don’t think it requires just any human sacrifice to work properly. I think it requires the blood of a family member.”

“So they took Adrian.” Trevor exhales. “Sypha. It’s okay. I don’t blame you.” And Sypha hadn’t realized how much she wanted to hear those words until she feels them in her chest, loosening what was clenched and painful. “We’re going to get him back.”

Sypha nods and takes a deep breath, but this time it’s steady. 

“You’re right,” she says. “We will.”

* * *

 They don’t waste a second more than necessary. Trevor brings Sypha clean dry clothes, and as soon as she’s finished her tea they head downstairs to start their search. They both look in the direction of the family room, glancing through the French doors they’d closed to keep the warmth in, but neither of them say anything.

“Adrian brought those books on Chaldaic back from Gresit,” Sypha says instead, focusing on what she can do to fix this. He’d stacked them neat and orderly on the console table just inside the front door, and Sypha grabs them on their way down to the Hold. “If I can just get the mirror up and working again, we can track him down that way.”

Trevor studies the mirror in question as Sypha stacks the book on the closest table. The glass in the mirror is still shattered, though the Chaldaic runes along the frame have all been sanded away, leaving a clean slate for Sypha to work from. He reaches out and runs his fingers down the frame before he turns away.

“We fixed that mirror before,” he says, dropping into the chair opposite Sypha’s. Adrian’s chair.

She nods. “We did. Adrian got it working and after we killed Dracula, we replaced the glass. Adrian…when he left, he made sure to destroy it, so he couldn’t be found.”

“But we had this whole library. You’re telling me in all the time here, there wasn’t a single book in the Belmont Hold that had what we needed?”

Sypha doesn’t speak; she doesn’t have to, as she pulls the first book from the pile and flips it open to the first page. She scans the page fleetingly before she turns it around for Trevor to see. It takes him a moment to place what she’s trying to show him.  
  
“Leon Belmont,” he reads the name from the topmost corner of the page and looks back up at Sypha. “He stole them from our library so we _couldn_ _’t_ reconstruct the mirror.”

She pulls the book back to her side of the table and nods.

Trevor can’t sit still for long, and he’s back on his feet after a moment as Sypha begins to read.

“I don’t understand,” he bursts after a moment. _“Why?”_

Sypha gives him a look. “Why did they take him? I already told you—”

But Trevor waves his hand dismissively. “No, not that. I get that. But _why—_ why the hell did he leave in the first goddamn place?”

Slowly, Sypha closes the book in front of her. “You remember it,” she says.

“Not everything,” he concedes. “Not as much as you do. But when I got knocked out, some of it came back to me, in pieces.”

Sypha doesn’t answer at first. She pulls her feet up into the chair and wraps her arms around her knees there. “I get it,” she says after a lengthy pause. “I mean I don’t _get_ it. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to fully get something like that, it’s so far from what I can comprehend—but that’s the point, isn’t it? When I try to put myself in his shoes…I can see how that would have been terrifying. To watch us grow older while we left him behind? To die one day.”

“We loved him,” Trevor says. Then he corrects himself, “No. We all loved each other. That should have been enough. You know, better to have loved and lost and all that crap.”

Sypha goes quiet; thoughtful. “…Maybe,” she says eventually. “But love makes us all do stupid things. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still angry. But I think at this point I’m more angry that he chose to lie to us about it, when we were given this—this second chance. Back then—I mean, there was the prophecy, right? A prophecy that said that we were in love, and we—” she hesitates before she forges on, “—we were. And more to the point—how many relationships do you think he’d seen like the three of us back then? I certainly hadn’t known how to reconcile the feelings I’d had for the both of you. So I think I just accepted what was easiest. Ironic coming from me, no?”

Trevor returns to her side and rests his hand on the back of her neck, steady and warm. “So we all fucked up,” he says. “All the better to fix it now.”

She smiles, weak but coy. “Such a way with words, Trevor Belmont.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Unfortunately, her smile fades quickly. “Still. I can’t help but be worried…all those years we spent searching for him. How are we to compare to the years they spent looking for him, in one day?”

He squeezes her hand in a comforting motion before he pulls away. “Because, Sypha. We’re not them.”

Whatever she might have expected him to say, it wasn’t that. She looks up at him with parted lips as Trevor pulls out a chair beside her. “We’ve both changed; we’re not who we were. Adrian was right when he said that who we are is constantly evolving, even back then. The way you would solve a problem now, versus two years ago, versus two hundred years ago—they’re all different. Forget about the Sypha you were. She couldn’t do it. _You_ can.”

Sypha is silent for so long that Trevor shifts awkwardly in place. “I mean…y’know, that probably sounded better in my head, huh?”

“No.”

“What?” 

Sypha smiles again and gives a determined nod. “You’re right. I can do it.”

* * *

 “Ah-hah! I found it!”

Trevor jerks awake, slamming his knee against the bottom of the table and ripping a page out of the book he’d fallen asleep on. “Wha—I’m awake—oh. Oops.” He slams the book closed and shoves it aside surreptitiously as he scratches his cheek and looks at Sypha. “What is it—where are you going?”

She’s not at the table anymore, standing at the lectern instead and flipping through the pages of the directory. “I’ll be right back!” Sypha shouts as she runs up the stairs. She doesn’t leave the Hold, just heads up two flights before she darts into the aisle between two of the shelves.

“What did you find!” he shouts up at her.

Sypha doesn’t answer right away, and he rubs at his eyes as he pulls out his phone to check the time. It’s nearing two in the afternoon, and he realizes neither of them have eaten or slept since the night before. Sypha comes back before he can dwell on it any further, holding up a book that she waves at him before she drops back into her seat from before.

She’s spread out completely across the table since he fell asleep, with two different books open as well as the old journal she’d recently taken to carrying around, and loose leaf papers filled with chicken scratch shoved to the side.

“It’s another book,” he says eloquently, feeling appropriately useless.

Sypha rolls her eyes. “It’s a book on Akkadian,” she tells him like that explains anything at all.

“Gesundheit,” Trevor deadpans.

Sypha kicks him under the chair. _“Akkadian,_ ” she enunciates in a louder voice, “is an Eastern Semitic language—it’s extinct now, and it has been since before the common era, but your family has records of the language, just like Chaldaic.”

“And this is relevant _because_ …?”

 _“Because_ , this is the language that the old Sypha was using to try and rewrite the distance mirror with! Chaldaic was its own Western Semitic language, but when the Chaldeans migrated to Mesopotamia, their language eventually went extinct when they began speaking Akkadian instead. But obviously languages like this don’t just disappear. Adrian may have taken the books on Chaldaic, but he _didn_ _’t_ take the books on Chaldaic-influenced dialects of Akkadian.”

“…Right.”

“Ugh. Are you really not following this?”

“Sorry, sorry. Continue.”

 _“Anyway._ Like I was saying, when I was reading her journal, she explained that she had been using a combination of Chaldaic-inspired Akkadian, and Aramaic—because it bore structural similarities to Chaldaic—to develop a _new_ spell with the same function. But obviously that couldn’t work in and of itself!”

“No, you really did lose me on that one.”

Sypha sighs and drums her fingers on the book as she squints thoughtfully at him. “Okay, think about…jokes! The language you’re using is important, yes? A lot of good jokes can’t be translated properly. There was a cat named ‘ _Un deux trois,_ _’_ and one day he went to cross a river and drowned. Why? Because _un deux trois quatre cinq._

“But obviously it doesn’t make as much sense in Romanian. If you just _say_ _‘_ one, two, three, four, five,’ the pun is lost.”

Trevor snorts. “So the spell…couldn’t be translated into another language?”

“Exactly. Its structure was built around Chaldaic, and to remove it from that context stripped it of its power. She practiced a lot of variations of the spell in her journal, now I just have to find the one that works and translate it back to Chaldaic. Easy enough, right?”

“…Right.”

Both of them look down at the journal in question, the back half of which is filled with hundreds of permutations of the same basic spell.

“Easy,” Sypha repeats a little breathlessly as surveys the table and gets to work.

The good news is that once Sypha translates the first permutation of the spell (failure), the others get significantly easier as the bulk of the spell remains the same, with minute variations to each one.

The bad news is that the first permutation of the spell takes upwards of two hours to finish, one long gangly sentence that requires constant double-checking to make sure every word is correct. Some of the Akkadian words are close enough to Chaldaic that it’s easy enough to piece together, but other words have diverged too greatly and Sypha instead has to rely on feeling out what the word might have meant using the context of the other words around it and the knowledge she has of her previous self.

Trevor counts the number of spells (eighteen) and takes inventory of the armory (three short swords, one long sword, four bows, one great axe, and the Morning Star, still curled on his belt) while she works.

For the most part, Sypha tunes him out. Once she gets deep enough into her work, she’s able to block out everything else around her. She gets a good system going, cycling between three books fairly exclusively once she finds the ones that offer the most relevant information.

“How will you know when you’ve translated the right one?” Trevor asks at one point.

“How do you know when you’re in danger before anything has happened? I’ll sense it intuitively.”

Which…Trevor supposes makes sense, in a way. 

Neither of them let themselves think about Adrian. Not when thinking of Adrian will paralyze them and leave them frozen when they need to _work_. So Sypha just keeps her head down and does exactly that.

* * *

 It’s more than an hour later, but Sypha feels it the moment she curves the last stroke of the seventh spell that this is the one she needs.

“Trevor,” she breathes out as she drops her pencil onto the table. She can feel her hands beginning to shake now, a combination of the stress of writing for so long and the overwhelming emotion of the moment.

Trevor’s slumped in the chair to the side, flipping absently through one of his family bestiaries, but he sits up straight and drops the book the moment she says his name, looking to Sypha. “Is that it?”

“I—I think so, yes.” Sypha runs her fingers along the page, tracing the characters; but aside from the sense of completeness she feels burning off the spell, it’s nothing more than an ordinary piece of paper. Sypha looks up at him and meets his gaze. “Now we just need to write it on the mirror.”

As one, they both look at the mirror in question, the frame sanded to perfection. “It was carved before, right? Please tell me we aren’t going to need to do that again. That will take too long without Adrian.” _Time we don_ _’t have_ goes without saying.

“No,” Sypha says as she stands up and goes to inspect the mirror. “At least, I don’t think we should. The carving makes it permanent, but for our purposes we should be able to make do with painting it on. Come on, let’s go look for something upstairs we can use.”

The sun is still out when they get upstairs and it disorients the both of them; they’d been working for so long downstairs that it just felt like it should be dark already. The house is still cold though, with the family room still destroyed. Snow has begun to pile in the open window, soaking through the carpet and ruining any furniture that hadn’t already been ruined by the fight.

They check the cellar first for any sort of paint, then move into Trevor’s father’s old office when that comes up empty. When that yields nothing either, they both stop in the upstairs hall to brainstorm.

“Trevor,” Sypha says as she moves closer to the closed door of his parent’s room. “May I?”

He hesitates for only a moment before he nods. “If you don’t mind, I’ll…stay out here.”

Sypha nods and touches his shoulder in understanding before she goes. She returns not five minutes later holding a bottle of old red nail polish, mostly full, and a small makeup brush that she shows to him. “This will work. Come on.”

They’re halfway down the stairs when Sypha’s phone starts ringing. Sypha jumps a little as it breaks the silent air surrounding them. In the chaos of everything that’s happened, it was as if she’d forgotten that the rest of the world was still out there, moving along as it always has; turning and turning.

She frowns as she pulls it out and glances at the caller ID.

“It’s my DSO,” she says. Trevor stops to peer over her shoulder at the name flashing across the screen; it’s not a name he recognizes, but it’s surely from the same office as his own DSO. He’d already told her that he wouldn’t be coming back to school next year.

“For your visa?” he says.

Sypha nods, her finger hovering over the answer button as it continues to ring out. “I emailed them when we left. But…my student visa might still get revoked if I don’t talk to them soon. They’ve been calling, but I haven’t answered or said anything at all since my email over a month ago. I…”

Trevor squeezes her shoulder, and it pulls her back. Sypha quickly hits the decline button and puts her phone back in her pocket. “We have something more important to do now,” she says definitively. “Adrian is counting on us; we won’t let him down again.”

They hurriedly make their way back down the rest of the way into the Hold, stopping together before the mirror without having to say a word between them. Sypha is the first to move again, reaching out to run her fingers down the center of the mirror in thought.

“What is it?” Trevor asks as he watches her.

Sypha shakes her head a little. “It’s…I don’t know. I just remembered something Adrian said long ago…he said that some distance mirrors could allow objects to pass through them.”

“Right,” Trevor says slowly. “But this wasn’t one of them, was it? This was just for viewing.”

After a moment, Sypha nods. “That’s true,” she says. “But…think about it. Adrian used this mirror to try and track down Mathias Bannister, didn’t he? The man who first stole his father’s spell book. Adrian would spend days down here, trying to trace him. But it rarely worked, because—”

“Because finding an individual is harder than finding a whole bloody castle,” Trevor finishes for her, remembering the same thing as she.

“And even if we could track him down,” she continues, “there’s no guarantee they’re anywhere nearby. Finding him will be useless if we can’t get to him in time.”

“You don’t mean this was all pointless, though,” Trevor says as he watches her, and it’s not a question. “I know you better than that.”

“No,” she agrees. “But what if…” Sypha trails off, still staring at the mirror for a moment longer before she’s struck with whatever inspiration she was searching for, and she pulls away and moves past Trevor to grab the books on Chaldaic.

“You’re going to change the spell?” Trevor follows her, watching her flip through the pages rapidly.

Sypha doesn’t spare him a second glance as she pulls the page with the completed spell on it closer to her and starts writing anew. “I’m going to make it take us there.”

* * *

 Sypha works like a woman inspired; she writes for nearly thirty minutes, hardly stopping to check the Chaldaic textbook long enough to confirm a word here or there. She lets the spell guide her in its desires, giving it only minimal direction. She can tell that Trevor is curious, the way he peers over her shoulder now and again, but she doesn’t have the time to explain it to him. Even if she did, Sypha doesn’t know if she could properly give voice to the life the spell seems to have taken for itself. She can _feel_ it, a thrumming that aches to enforce its will on the universe.

That’s all magic is, she’d told Adrian once. Enforcing your will on the world. But it’s more than that, she’s come to realize. It’s not just _your_ will that has a say.

Magic, she’s come to realize, is its own living, breathing thing. And as she guides the spell in the direction she wants, it molds itself to her and follows willingly along. It’s as if she can see the right words written on the insides of her eyelids, just waiting to be written.

All told, the addition takes just under an hour; and when she’s done—lifting her head and blinking in the candlelight as Trevor watches—she can feel deep in her chest that this spell will obey.

It’s…strange, in a way, how _right_ she feels as she kneels before the mirror and dips her brush in old nail polish. It’s like she can _feel_ the magic in the air, surrounding her. Not just this, but all the magic the Belmont Hold has kept secret for generations. Sypha rests on the precipice of total understanding, and it’s what allows her hands to move quick and deft through the proper brush strokes. There is no hesitation, no mistakes. Just Sypha and the magic she can read from the air, guiding her.

She hears Trevor breathe her name as she makes the final brush stroke and she shakes herself out of the stupor she’d fallen into, turning to look at him.  
  
But Trevor’s not looking at her; he’s staring at the mirror and the bright red of the spell that encircles the whole thing; he looks awestruck. “This is amazing,” he whispers.

Sypha carefully sets down the nail polish and stands up. “It is, isn’t it?” she says. And it doesn’t sound boastful nor proud, though she has every right to be. It’s simply the quiet surety of a job well done; a statement of fact.

Trevor’s hand goes to the Morning Star. “Alright,” he says, finally turning his gaze to her. “How do we do this?”

Sypha reaches out for one of his hands with her own. She grips the mirror with her free hand, and on the other side, Trevor does the same.

“Think of him,” Sypha says, closing her eyes as she leans into the mirror. “Think of Adrian. He’ll be waiting for us—he needs us. Where is he. _Where is he._ _”_ She keeps her eyes squeezed shut, focusing all her will on this one, single moment. This is not any mirror, but the mirror that will show her the one she loves, take her to him. She feels Trevor’s hand in hers, and it emboldens her. They three are strongest together, and someone has taken their third. She won’t let them get away with that.

“Sypha,” Trevor gasps.

Sypha opens her eyes. And there before them, she sees him.

His skin is pale and washed out, almost grey in the lighting of the room, and she can see where his veins stand out starkly against his skin. He’s bound, too, though that seems mostly unnecessary when he’s slumped lifelessly on the floor. And all around him the white of a magic circle is drawn beneath him. Just as before, there’s another magic circle nearby with the same chest bearing the remains of the last attempt at resurrection, and against the opposite wall, Kisa and Jennifer.

Sypha lets go of Trevor’s hand and brings it to her mouth. For one brief, horrifying moment she thinks they’re too late; and then she sees the slightest shift of movement, the shallow rise and fall of breath.

He’s alive.

“Sypha,” Trevor repeats her name more insistently now. Sypha pulls her gaze away from Adrian and back to Trevor, and seeing him reaffirms her shaken resolve. “Is this it? Is there anything else I have to do.”

Sypha shakes her head. “No,” she says. “All you have to do now is jump.”

Trevor gives a definitive nod. “Okay,” he says. “Stay together. You check on Adrian first, make sure he won’t die on us in the next five minutes, then we get to work. Focus the vampire first; her goal is to keep us off Jennifer, as long as she’s around she’s a problem. Understood?” Sypha nods.

He reaches down so he can take hold of the Morning Star in one hand, and a short sword in the other; and he spares one last long look at Sypha before he takes a deep breath  and nods, one more time.

Trevor runs, and Trevor jumps.


	26. Part II | Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At long last, we're finally here. It feels strange to say that this is the last chapter. You can expect a brief epilogue in the next couple days, but for all intents and purposes this is meant to be the true end - bringing the story full circle back to the the end of their fateful fight with Dracula all those years ago.
> 
> In true Castlevania fashion, parts of this fight do get a bit gruesome, just so you're all prepared.
> 
> Thank you so much everyone who has commented, given kudos, read, and supported this fic over the past few months. It's really strange to think that it's over.

Travelling through a dimensional portal inside a mirror is one of the strangest experiences of Trevor’s life. It seems, simultaneously, to spread never-endingly before him and yet end in the blink of an eye, his body twisting and molding in protest of its own reality.

Trevor appears in the center of a poorly lit room, ten feet off the ground, and feels his senses return to him one at a time: sight, touch, sound. He sees Jennifer as he opens his eyes, watches the way her mouth moves but no sound comes out.

And then he hits the ground and tucks into a roll, and the shock of it is like breaking through the surface of a lake.

“—the hell did _he_ get in here?!” she screams.  
  
Trevor glances over his shoulder as he hears Sypha join him. Adrian is slumped over behind both of them, and Sypha and he share a look that says everything it needs to.

He can see, too, Kisa pushing off the wall out of his peripheral vision, unsheathing her sword and swinging it experimentally in the air as Sypha twists on her heel and darts over to Adrian. Trevor cracks his neck and turns back around, and the games begin.

He’s done with losing his friends and his family, done with being helpless—he faces Kisa, and it’s as if twenty years of rage culminate in one single instant.

Kisa throws herself forward, screaming with rage and seeming to come to the same conclusion at the same time.

Trevor drops to his knees and slides under her blade, lifting his own sword as he passes underneath; he goes for her wrist, aiming to cut her hand off if that’s what it takes, but she’s too fast. She’s forced to drop her sword, though, and Trevor takes advantage of that. The moment he begins to lose momentum in his slide he pushes up onto his feet and charges her from behind, throwing his shoulder into her back hard enough that they both go stumbling right into Sypha’s feet.

“Watch it!” Sypha cries as she pulls Adrian’s unconscious form out of the way.

Trevor grunts and does as he’s told, seizing Kisa by the lapels of her jacket and hauling her off the ground before he decks her. She hisses as he pulls back, darting up with vampire speed to push down on his wrist, following through on the motion until he’s forced to break his grip. She keeps going until he’s half bent over, before she kicks his legs out from underneath him to flip him on his ass.

Sypha looks up sharply at the sound, but she doesn’t stop from examining Adrian, first.

There’s two small pricks in his neck, where Kisa had stolen just enough of his blood to keep him weak and helpless, no doubt. If Sypha had to wager a guess, they’ve left just enough blood to complete the ritual.

Sypha reaches for the knife on her belt, quickly cutting him free of the ropes that bind him before pressing the blade into her thumb until she feels the sharp sting of it. She pulls back, checking her thumb just long enough to ensure that it’s bleeding properly before she presses it to Adrian’s lips insistently.

“Drink, you bastard,” she mutters. She presses harder, trying to get the blood down his throat as quickly as possible so she can help Trevor.  
Adrian’s eyes fly wide open before she can worry it’s not enough, gasping and lurching forward. He seizes her wrist in one of his hands, trying to grip but so weak in it as he sucks at the meager blood she can offer.

“Adrian!” she shouts. And it takes him a second, but he returns to himself; shoving her hand away and taking quick, gasping breaths.

“Sypha—” he gasps. “Sypha—”

“Sh,” she comforts. “Stay here, alright? I need to help Trevor, I just had to make sure you were alright, first. We’ll give you blood as soon as we can.”

He nods, his shoulder hunching in on himself as he brings his hand to his head and groans.

Sypha pushes herself to her feet, leaving her knife at Adrian’s side. She sees Jennifer as she stands, mouthing quickly over the words of the spell, still so desperate in her quest.

Still. Trevor told her to focus Kisa first, together. She turns her body away from Jennifer to face Kisa, instead. She’s managed to get hold of her sword again, leading Trevor into a duel of swordsmanship, in which she will emerge the clear victor. He’s holding his own better than expected, but she can see the way Kisa walks him backwards that he’s on the defensive, unable to take back the upper hand.

Sypha takes two steps forward, spreads her hands before her, and dips down into the magic written into her very being.

And then, she pulls—pulling her hands in and curling them into fists on either side of her face.

And before Trevor’s eyes, Kisa _freezes_. Her eyes flicker frantically in their sockets as she tries to find the source of the attack, her sword still half-raised in an uppercut; but no matter how she tries, she can’t so much as speak.

Jennifer notices them at the same exact time Sypha begins to stride towards the two of them. She puts her hands out before her again as she walks before she begins to pull hand over hand like tugging on an invisible rope.

“Stop,” Jennifer says. She takes two steps forward, faltering, before she breaks into a run. “Stop!” she screams, louder now.

Sypha can hear her, but Trevor can’t. Not over the moaning sounds that Kisa has begun to make as her eyes roll back. Her whole body is trembling, and that’s why it takes Trevor a moment to realize what’s happening. Sweat begins to build on her brow, before Trevor realizes—it’s not sweat. Moisture gathers on her skin as Sypha literally pulls the water from her body. He watches the way her fingers begin to curl unnaturally as they’re stripped of needed water, the way her skin begins to shrivel and dry like a raisin as she clutches her sword; until it’s not Sypha holding her fingers there but dried out muscle and tissue. Sypha keeps going.

The entire time, she cannot scream.

Lightning arcs through the air and strikes Sypha hard enough to throw her back ten feet.

“Sypha!” Trevor shouts as her body hits the ground with a thump. Sypha rolls over, groaning as she sits up.

“Finish it,” she wheezes, voice too quiet to be heard. “Trevor!”

 _“No!”_ Jennifer screams, but Trevor doesn’t need to be told twice. He severs Kisa’s head from her body in one fell swoop.

Sypha pushes herself to her feet and stands to face Jennifer, clutching her arm that’s bent at an unnatural angle from her fall. But Jennifer’s not looking at either of them, her attention so wholly consumed by Kisa’s body. Trevor doesn’t know whether it’s Sypha’s magic or just that her body has grown so shriveled it can’t move, but she stays frozen in that spot, forever swinging her blade in attack even as her severed head rolls to a stop.

And Jennifer—Jennifer’s crying. She doesn’t make a sound, lips barely parted, but Trevor catches the glimpse of tear tracks down her cheeks as she  
begins taking slow step backwards and shaking her head. He thinks she’s in shock, at first, trying to get away from the body, and he realizes too late what she’s really doing as she spins on her heel and sprints towards Adrian, still hunched over in the center of the magic circle.

Sypha tries to catch Jennifer the way she’d caught Kisa, holding her in place, but she cries out the moment she tries to spread out her right arm, her knees buckling as she clutches her arm to her side.

Jennifer snatches the knife Sypha had left with Adrian up off the ground. She shoves him back down—and she stabs him through the gut. Adrian gasps, his hands going for the blade before she pulls it out and stabs him again.

 _“No!”_ Trevor and Sypha scream in tandem. Trevor lets out a battle cry and throws the Morning Star out as he sprints in Jennifer’s direction, but he’s already too late as she drops the bloody knife to the floor and the circle begins to glow just as it had that day in the warehouse. The Morning Star is buffeted away from them by some unseen force, and when Trevor tries to grab her he’s met with the same resistance as it tosses him backwards.

Adrian tries to curl in on himself, pressing his hands to the wound and trying his damnedest to crawl out of the magic circle before what’s left of his blood can drain out, but Jennifer catches him in the shoulder and rolls him over on the floor. He catches himself on hands and knees, and he can feel the blood on his hands almost-but-not-quite burning as it reacts to the magic. And as if in slow motion, the blood of his stomach wound follows the force of gravity.

Just as last time, the blood begins to drain towards the other magic circle in the room with supernatural speed; even the force of Sypha’s magic trying to hold it back (now with one hand) does nothing to stop it as it runs and runs and then—

It reaches the open chest as the chest begins to vibrate, hard enough to send it clattering on its side and spilling Dracula’s remains. It’s not just ash this time, though, but the results of Jennifer’s last attempt, a wet and chalky textured form that begins to grow as Adrian’s blood reaches it.

This time, the form it creates doesn’t end there, a vaguely humanoid blob. It keeps growing, taller and taller and filling out further and further. It’s as if it pulls matter from nothing, expanding every piece of ash into new bone and sinew until a new body stands in its place.

And Dracula breathes again.

Adrian’s eyes go wide—as if, despite everything, he’d never truly expected his father to come to form once more.

Jennifer has no such hesitations. Adrian watches from the floor as she begins to walk slowly towards him, stepping over the barrier of magic without hesitation. He can’t see the look on her face, but Trevor can—the firm press of her lips into a thin line as she takes one deep, steadying breath and closes her eyes.

Dracula turns at the sound of her footsteps, and Trevor can see from here the whites of his eyes are not white at all but the blood red of madness he remembers from long ago.

“Magician,” he hisses as Jennifer steps closer. His voice is a deep, low growl—enough to strike fear in the hearts of most men. “Is this your doing?”

Jennifer lifts her chin, but still she doesn’t open her eyes as they all watch in wide-eyed silence. “Yes,” she breathes. “But I don’t care, anymore. Please; I’m tired.”

Dracula reaches out with supernatural speed, seizing her whole face in his grip; he hardly seems to care what she wants, but still she doesn’t make a sound as his nails begin to sink into the frame of her face. “You dare wake me from the peaceful sleep of death?” he growls. Trevor watches the way his hand begins to smoke, growing hotter and hotter until Trevor can smell the scent of searing flesh—and it’s only then that Jennifer begins to scream.

It only lasts two gruesome seconds before the screaming stops and Dracula releases his grip on her and lets her whole body drop.

Adrian catches her with supernatural speed before she can hit the ground, pushing her hair aside so he can sink his fangs into the vulnerable part of her neck. He’s only able to manage a couple drags before Dracula swipes out and backhands him across the face, breaking his grip on Jennifer’s body and sending them both tumbling backwards.

Adrian brings his hand to his cheek, barely even red with so little blood in his body; but Dracula’s gaze moves from Adrian to Trevor and Sypha without stopping on any of them.

“Kill me,” he says; a challenge. And then he roars. “Kill me if you’re able!”

Trevor shatters the moment first, sprinting past Adrian as he spins the Morning Star in his right hand before launching it towards Dracula. The head of the whip begins to glow with holy fire, but Dracula catches it like it’s nothing.

“Belmont,” he hisses, narrowing his eyes as he yanks the Morning Star from Trevor’s grasp and tosses it aside like it’s nothing. Except—Trevor watches Dracula’s hand as he curls it into a fist and sprints at Trevor, sucker punching him in the nose. But before that, he’d seen burn marks on the palm of his hand from the Morning Star.

The resurrection, he thinks—

“Sypha!” Trevor shouts over his shoulder as he stumbles back from the vampire. “Adrian! He’s still not at full capacity. I don’t think the resurrection is fully complete yet— _argh!”_ Dracula bull rushes Trevor into the table against the opposite wall and Trevor grunts as he hits the ground, but uses the table as cover to roll to the side and take a chance at recovering his whip.

Ice sprouts up at Dracula’s feet to slow him down, impaling his legs in three places, and Dracula growls as he turns immediately towards the source. Sypha doesn’t falter, even as Dracula shatters the ice and sprints at her too fast for her to track.

Sypha holds out her one good arm and wind kicks up—not enough to harm Dracula, but enough to slow him down as he tries to claw at her just as he had Jennifer.

“Sypha, move!” Trevor calls out.

She doesn’t even think, trusting him implicitly as she throws herself to the side.

Dracula’s brow furrows, just an instant before the Morning Star curls around him, splitting through the space Sypha had just been before wrapping three, four, five times around Dracula.

Sypha’s eyes widen, and before Dracula can free himself of the chains she takes two steps forward and makes a series of hand motions—and the chains of the Morning Star erupt in flames, from head to tip. She furrows her brow and takes another step forward in concentration, letting the flames grow hotter and larger.

Dracula screams, not in pain but in rage, as he uses all his strength to _shatter_ the chains of the Morning Star wrapped around him. Fire explodes from him, throwing Sypha back, and he spins around to face Trevor—

Only to come face-to-face with Adrian.

Dracula gasps.

“Adrian,” he whispers; it’s enough to crack Adrian’s stone-faced facade, eyes widening: Adrian, not Alucard. The name given to him by his mother. “I…I forgot my son,” Dracula whispers, bringing a hand to his head. “I was returned to this earth only to forget my son.” And then his voice rises, a shout to the heavens that will not listen to a man like him. “Am I to suffer forevermore for my crimes?!”

And Adrian presses Sypha’s blade into his heart.

Dracula gasps again, this time a wet thing as he looks down at the blade—it’s not just any blade, though, but a Belmont. Blessed and holy just as all Belmont weapons are. He can feel it beginning to seep into his veins like poison, his heart pumping harder to try and overpower the foreign object, but that only makes it worse.

Dracula hits his knees, but Adrian is there to catch him. It’s as if this moment itself has paralyzed him, not just the blade.

“I love you,” Adrian whispers as he cradles his father’s body. “Despite everything, I both hate and love you. I never got to tell you that before.”

Dracula gags on blood and reaches up with one shaky hand, but he stops just shy of touching him as something holds him back.

“I hope wherever you go, you may be reunited with mother. I hope you can have that, if nothing else.” And then he pulls out the knife, and shoves it back in, just as Jennifer had done to him before. He can feel Dracula’s body seize as it tries and fails to resist the holy blade, feel the beat of his heart rabbit-fast at first before it begins to slow…slow…slow…stop.

Silence.

Eventually, Sypha approaches him, putting her hand on his shoulder. “Adrian,” she says gently. “Let me finish it.”

He presses his lips into a thin line, but after a moment he concedes to her and stands nonetheless, resting his father’s body on the ground and moving out of the way as Sypha casts one last stream of fire. The body goes up in flames as Dracula is returned unto ash once again; for good this time, hopefully.

They’re all quiet.

“Christ,” Trevor mutters from across the room after a moment. Adrian hears the sound of a blade and looks up sharply where Trevor is standing over Jennifer; the expression on his face is a mixture of pity and disgust. “I think she’s still bloody alive.”

“Wait,” Adrian says. “Let me.”

Trevor shrugs and takes a step back as Adrian draws closer. “Suit yourself.”

He can see that Trevor is right as he grows closer. The blood from Dracula’s claw marks seep slowly down her face and throat, bleeding into the cherry red flesh that’s been charred there in the vague outline of a handprint. Parts of her flesh have burned away, revealing bits and pieces of muscle tissue along her cheek. She breathes in tiny pants, eyes swollen shut, and Adrian kneels solemnly beside her and takes her trembling hand.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers; the words tremble, and it’s so faint only Adrian can hear it with his superior hearing. “I never—never m-meant for it to go like this. I really wanted to help, in the beginning. I was sup-supposed to help people.”

“We can get you to a hospital,” Adrian offers, but she’s already shaking her head.

“I’m alright,” she says.

Adrian closes his eyes, and after a moment he finally nods and opens them once more. “Very well,” he says. He moves to rest her on the floor and push himself back onto his feet so he can look at Trevor. “Give me your sword.”

Trevor offers it wordlessly. Adrian just takes it, holding it there and studying the weapon for a long, contemplative moment before finally he turns back around and pushes it carefully through Jennifer’s ribcage to meet her heart. She gasps, her back arching upwards into the motion before she slumps back down.

The expression on Adrian’s face never shifts, but he takes a knee beside her body and gently brushes the burns on her face in respect.

Trevor and Sypha share a look over his head. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to as they each come over to rest hands on his shoulders.

“Adrian,” Sypha says softly. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

He sniffs, once, but when he stands and looks at the both of them his eyes are clear. “It’s over,” he says. “Thank you, for everything. I knew the two of you would come."

And he says it with such certainty that it knocks the breath from Sypha's chest, to see how far he's come; to know that even in the face of their past, he hadn't lost his faith. "I know you'd do the same."

Adrian smiles, just the slightest bit; it gives way to a more somber expression as Trevor speaks up. "We _do_ need to talk, Adrian. No more secrets, no more lies and half-truths. We can't move forward if we don't know what we're moving _from."_

Adrian nods. "You're right."

 _"But,"_ Trevor continues; he reaches out to brush a strand of hair out of Adrian's eyes; let's his thumb trace the line of his jaw. Adrian's eyelids flutter shut. "We can talk tomorrow. For now, Sypha's right: it's time to go home."

"It is at that," Adrian agrees softly. "I am curious, though: how did the two of you get here so quickly?”

“The distance mirror,” Trevor says. “Sypha figured out the spell, and modified it so it would let us travel through it.”

Adrian looks at Sypha. “Is this true?”

She smiles and looks away, proud. “Yes.”

He smiles, too. “Amazing, Sypha. Both of you.”

“C’mon,” Trevor says gruffly. He looks away and pulls the sword from Jennifer’s body to hide his embarrassment.  “Let’s get you out of here.”

He collects the pommel of the Morning Star as Sypha goes to retrieve the spell book, all that's left now of the Belmont weapon. Trevor's not worried about it, though. He has a feeling the whip is as resilient as the Belmonts themselves. He doesn't know how, not yet, but he knows it can be re-crafted again, even stronger than before.

And together the three of them start to make their way slowly outside, aching and bruised but alive.

Sypha remembers, once upon a time long ago, walking into the sunlight from the depths of a cold, hollow castle. Trevor and Adrian had both pulled away then—as if, with their task behind them, they thought there was nothing left to keep them together. They’d been silent, but Sypha hadn’t needed them to speak.

She’d been the one to pull them back in that time, reminded them that they weren’t alone. It was still such a new sensation at the time.

And she’d reached out to Adrian with his trembling hands, and she’d taken Trevor’s hand, and she’d held onto them as they’d stepped into the sunrise.

It was the beginning of their story, back then.

But as she remembers this for the first time in centuries, Sypha’s struck by something she hadn’t realized back then, the first time around—the way Adrian had stood, just apart from her and Trevor in the cold morning air—the way he’d always stood for the rest of their lives, without them noticing.

As they make their way slowly outside this time, they step into a sunset, not a sunrise.

It feels like an end. Not an end to them, but an end to something—an end to the unnameable thing that had separated them for so long, perhaps.

But the thing about time is that it’s all circular. There are no ends without new beginnings—and new beginnings can only happen when the old ends.

It will be cold soon as the sun’s rays quickly begin to slip behind the nearest mountain range. But Sypha doesn’t feel cold with Adrian and Trevor here. She curls the fingers of her good arm around Adrian’s waist and leans her head against his shoulder. And he does the same, resting his head atop hers. She feels Trevor’s arm overlap hers around Adrian’s waist as he takes up his place on Adrian’s other side. And then—he pulls them into a circle, not a line, and wraps his other arm around Sypha so they can all hold each other.

Let them all mourn this ending, now: Mitch, Dracula, even Jennifer.

And in the morning, like a phoenix from its own ashes:

A beginning.


	27. Part III | Epilogue

_Bucharest Henri Coandă International Airport, Six Months Later_

Trevor searches the crowd of tired travellers, looking anxiously for the two most important faces.

“Trevor!”

He hears Sypha’s voice before he sees her, spinning around and scanning the crowd in the direction of her voice. It’s easy to spot her now, even despite her height—she’s the only person in the crowd running, weaving through the throngs of people so she can throw herself into his arms. Trevor laughs as he catches her and her legs wrap around his waist. “We missed you!”

Trevor laughs as Adrian approaches at a slower pace, now holding both his carry-on and hers. “I missed you, too.”

“You smell like you’ve been rolling around in the mud,” Adrian observes with an eyebrow raised.

“Oh, stuff it,” Trevor says. “I’ve been working on the house all day making sure it was ready for the two of you. I didn’t have time to shower before I came to pick you up.”

“Ignore him, he missed you, too,” Sypha says as she tugs at his shirt and sniffs it, making a face. “But definitely put me down. Eugh.”

Trevor laughs again but does as he’s told. “Can I still kiss you or is that not allowed now that I smell?”

Sypha pretends to sigh long-sufferingly, but she’s smiling. “Oh, fine, I suppose you can kiss me.”

He does, and then he kisses Adrian for good measure.

They’re back in Romania for good this time. Sypha’s finished out her final semester at Hawthorne, and she’s already submitted the paperwork to transfer to the nearest university here in Romania. Her grandparents are ecstatic to have her back in the country.

And as for Adrian, the History of Horror exhibit is officially no more. With the loss of Dracula’s ashes, Adrian had told them that he’d lost his main attraction. Besides, he’d told them; it felt like it was time to move on to something new. So, after wrapping up at the Penn in March and all their contracts ended, Adrian had gone through the business of selling or giving away the other pieces of his exhibit and dissolved the entity, though he’d stayed with Sypha until her semester was up.

And Trevor? He’s just been working on the house, putting the love and attention into it that it sorely needed after standing empty and uncared for for so long, not to mention the destruction from their fight back in December.

When he’s not working, he’s been training and studying, trying to catch up on a family legacy that’s been left to him.

His name’s out, too—if only to the right people in the right, whispered circles. A Belmont is back.

People have begun to come to him a few times, now, asking for his help. He’s been happy to give it, but he’s ready for a couple partners to help him out now.

“So what’s next for Adrian Țepeș?” Trevor asks as they hit the highway that will take them back to Warakiya and the Belmont Estate. _Home._

“I’m not sure yet,” Adrian says. “But something good. I spent one hundred years regretting my choices and thinking I’d never get to make them up to the two of you. I think now it’s time to do just that with the second chance we’ve been given.”

Sypha leans forward from her place in the backseat so she can reach out and take his hand. “To something good,” she says, squeezing.

“To something good,” he repeats.

Trevor smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A brief blurb to round out the story. You guys have been amazing. Come follow me @mysterionrises on Instagram or @mysterionrising on Twitter if you wanna chat about the fic, anything Castlevania, or anything at all! I'll be working on my Sypha cosplay in the near future if anyone's interested, and who knows? Maybe I'll eventually get around to writing that companion piece to a doua şansă!


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